


Melting In The Sun

by sweetNsimple



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Anal Scarring, Bisexual Carlos Oliveira, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Communication, Consensual Sex, Derogatory Language, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endearments, Explicit Consent, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forced Prostitution, Gift Giving, Hand Jobs, Healing, Healing Sex, Homophobic Language, Hurt Nicholai, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, Learning How To Be Gentle, M/M, Mikhail Victor is a good man, Nipple Play, Past Sexual Abuse, Poverty, Pre-Raccoon City, Pre-Resident Evil 3 Remake, Rape Recovery, Rimming, Scars, Sergei Vladimir is a very bad man, Underage Prostitution, consent kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28715361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetNsimple/pseuds/sweetNsimple
Summary: Nicholai spent his childhood and part of his military service (go fuck yourself for once, Sergei) at the mercy of men who taught him all homosexuals were pedophiles and rapists. And then Carlos Oliveira appeared in his life. Damn him.~:~"His smile was too white, his lips too inviting, his curly mop of hair too teasing. His brown eyes were chocolate and his skin looked warm to the touch, as if snow would melt where he walked.He was a temptation and Nicholai was so angry at him that he went out of his way to make Carlos’s existence a living hell."
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Carlos Oliveira
Comments: 9
Kudos: 19





	Melting In The Sun

Officially, the Soviet Union had no part in the Vietnam War. Which was laughable, considering the U.S.S.R.’s contribution of weaponry and soldiers to North Vietnam against their twin South Vietnam, and Soviet Union’s bitter enemy America. This was another proxy war that happened to occur within the Cold War. Russia and America were once again openly antagonizing one another while also seeking their own ends.

Dima Zinoviev had been one of the soldiers sent to Vietnam in 1961 when Nicholai was only 8 years old. His papa returned just a few months later with two limbs missing. The stipend he was given as a veteran was paltry at best, the respect their neighbors had had for them lost, and Nicholai became intimately familiar with hunger and shame both. His mama, Lada, thinned the stew and the milk until Nicholai’s belly was bloated with water alone. A miserable existence, made even more miserable as his father became a monster in his humiliation and helplessness. Bruises bloomed on his mama, purples and blues across her wrists and throat and over her face. Lada learned to never take her eyes off the ground, or else Dima might rip what was left of her soul from her very tears. Dima spent his stipend on alcohol and the bills went unpaid for a dangerously long time, so long that Nicholai learned to be silent and still whenever anyone knocked on the door to their small and drafty apartment. They went without heat in the winter and Nicholai thought he would freeze to death in his bed.

Nicholai was openly mocked whenever he did leave their apartment. His shoes had holes in them, his clothes were dirty and ragged, and he was known as the boy with a legless father who had been stupid and slow and a pitiful soldier.

Nicholai, who had been an obedient and studious child, became very quiet and withdrawn. He was called a “ghost” because he barely made a sound and because of his white hair and pale skin.

Some called him “pretty” and that was much, much worse.

One day, Nicholai came home from school and a military officer was in his home, sitting at his rickety table with his papa. His papa told him that the man was a Marshall, a very important and respectable man. Nicholai had not seen his papa smile so much since he had left for the war two years ago. Nicholai was now 10.

The Marshall smiled very kindly at Nicholai and offered him a candy from a hidden pocket on his heavy jacket. Nicholai quietly took it and scurried away to give it to his mama, who had been laying in bed all day.

The apartment was small and the walls were thin, so Nicholai could still hear the two men talk as he curled up next to his mama, trying to share his little warmth with her. The blankets were not yet threadbare, but the apartment was almost as cold as the winter outside.

“That boy of yours looks like a little girl, Dima! I would even call him a pretty one.”

“Yes, yes, he is small and weak, I know. It is his mother, she babies him. What can I do? What is, is.”

“I am sure, with some meat on his bones, he will grow into a fine man someday. Make you proud!”

“Him? He is soft! I give him money to get food and he loses it to some bullies. They give him a black eye and he comes home weeping to me. To me! He is useless to me.”

“Is that so?” The important man’s voice was soft and low and it made even young Nicholai feel afraid. “Dima, my friend, I look around and I see how bad life has been for you. You deserve so much more than this!”

“I do, I know!”

“My friend, you have been so good to me… Let me help you out. Let me give you some money to tide you over. To help you find a better home and keep you fed with better food.”

Nicholai felt hopeful. Perhaps this Marshall was a good man.

“Absolutely not!” his papa roared. “We are not beggars. Let me have my pride. We cannot accept something for nothing.”

“Oh, of course, I would never insult you… It is just… you have so little to give me in return, and I would not want you to owe me money.”

“Adrian, my friend, I will not lie to you. We are in great need. We just cannot let ourselves fall to taking charity! Then what will we be? We might as well live on the streets and beg to our neighbors, who already look down on us.”

“Well, Dima, my friend, I would not want to ask something of you that would cause you pain…”

“Name it! I can see you are thinking of something. I cannot imagine what, as all I have to my name is my wife and brat. Unless… Is it Lada you want?”

“Your poor wife does not look long for this world.”

“She cannot handle this hard life,” Dima lamented, as if his fists in her ribs was no worse than going a day without food. “Perhaps, if we can make a deal, I can buy food and things to make her better. You want something – I want something. Please, Adrian, we can make an arrangement if you just tell me what it is you want.”

“Well, if you insist… You know me, Dima, so you know I am not _that_ kind of pervert. However, your child is very pretty and very small, and you have said that he is of no use to you. We have here this very strong vodka and I have in my pocket my checkbook. I understand that I am asking much, but I will _give_ much in return.”

“You are asking to sodomize my _son_?”

“On his belly, he would look very much like a girl. And I will give him as much of this bottle as need be so that he will never even remember it. My friend, let me help you. There is nothing else you have that I want. The only other way I could fathom giving you money is to be charitable, and you do not want that.”

His papa was quiet for a long time. Nicholai tried to figure out what _sodomize_ meant.

“Mama,” he whispered. “Mama, what is sodomize?”

She smoothed a tired hand through his hair. “When he comes for you,” she told him. “Drink as much as you can until you feel sick and everything goes black.”

“Mama, I am not allowed to touch papa’s drink.”

“You are allowed to this time.” There were tears glittering on her pale eyelashes. Her pale green eyes were dull and despairing. “Drink as much as you can.”

“Okay, mama.” He didn’t know why she was crying, but he was excited to get to try his papa’s drink. That seemed like a very adult thing to do.

“Nicholai!” his father roared. “Get out here.”

“ _No_ ,” his mama gasped, sobbing. Nonetheless, she let him slip out of her arms.

Nicholai was afraid. His mama seemed so sad and scared.

In the kitchen, Dima thrust a bottle half-filled with vodka at him. “Drink this!”

Nicholai nodded and began to drink. He coughed at first, because the vodka burned and didn’t feel good in his empty belly. He didn’t stop, though, because he didn’t want his papa to get angry or disobey his mama.

Being small and hungry, it did not take long for the world to swirl around him. The Marshall plucked the bottle from him before he could drink even more than a few gulps.

“He’s still awake!” he heard his papa say.

“Oh, he will not remember this, my friend.”

The Marshall was lying. Nicholai remembered everything that happened next.

“Just this once!” his papa said after all was said and done and Nicholai crawled from his own bedroom to his mama’s, crying and bleeding. Dima was pointing a commanding finger at the Marshall as if he had control of this. “This never happens again.”

“Yes, of course, my friend,” Adrian assured him easily. He wrote out a check and left.

But his papa was bad with money and he invited the Marshall back just a few weeks later.

“I would never ask for charity… perhaps an arrangement?”

“Oh, of course, Dima.”

And then a third time.

And then a fourth.

And then, the fifth time, the Marshall said he would leave a bigger check if he was only allowed to invite a friend or two.

The… _arrangement_ … only came to an end when Nicholai was 14 and hit a growth spurt. Long-limbed and thin as a stick, he no longer looked girly enough to please the Marshall and his comrades.

“Do not despair, my friend,” Adrian told a distraught Dima, who had never, with all the checks he had been given, moved out of the tiny, cold apartment and never helped his broken wife get better. He had become a slob in filthy clothes with a growing pile of glass bottles that had once had alcohol in them. His wheelchair reeked of his body odor and the wheels squeaked from lack of care. There were no bills to take care of, fortunately, but still, somehow, no food in the kitchen.

“I may know some people who would still find your boy attractive,” Adrian told Nicholai’s papa. “Ah, but he is older now and not so pretty. You may get less in any new arrangement you make.”

“Anything is better than nothing,” his papa said. “Invite them over. Have them meet the boy.”

Nicholai would spend the rest of his life trying very hard not to think about how many men were trotted through his room over the next two years. He wasn’t as young as most men wanted, or as pretty, and he was certainly no virgin. He was worth less, which meant his papa had to make more arrangements.

~:~

When he was 16, his mama died. She had simply given up, tired and weak and frail. Nicholai hated her for what she had let happen to him.

Therefore, he could not explain why he only ran away after she was gone. As if he had not been able to bear the idea of leaving her alone with Dima. The sentiment was beyond him to understand anymore.

He lied about his age to join the Soviet army and the recruiter pointedly ignored his emaciated body and scars, giving him a stamp of approval. He had no prior work experience, no home, and no family he wished to claim. The military was his best and possibly only option.

Nicholai found safety in basic training. He found food and a bed and he honed his body into a weapon with single-minded determination. He was thin from little food, but his poor diet had failed to completely stint his growth and he was very tall for his age. This was good since he was pretending to be older than he was. He was quick of mind and calculating, cutthroat to the point of cruelty, and he steadfastly increased his own strength and speed until, finally, muscle began to grow on his bones.

Nicholai was recommended for Spetsnaz, or Special Operation Forces, and he calculated that he would soon be well compensated for his skills and intelligence.

The year was 1979 and the Soviet-Afghan War had just broken out. Nicholai’s unit came to inhabit a military base in Uzbekistan, right outside of Afghanistan, at the same time as a battalion of foot soldiers.

Three days into cohabitation, he was stripping down to jump into the communal showers, about to brave water he knew to be freezing. There was a ruckus as he was joined by strangers, headed by a very large, middle-aged man.

Nicholai had been introduced at an earlier time. Naked, he saluted. “Major Vladimir,” he greeted. He waited to be dismissed.

He was not dismissed.

Sergei Vladimir eyed him from head to toe. “How old are you, pretty boy?” he asked.

Nicholai’s saluting hand curled into a fist. “I’ll shower at a later time,” he told the Major and his four accompanying soldiers. He no longer waited to be dismissed and instead grabbed his pile of clothes before making a determined march for the swinging doors.

Vladimir stepped into his path. “Ah, friend!” he jeered. “Why run? I am just making small talk.” He pulled Nicholai’s clothes from his arms and handed them to one of his soldiers without looking. The soldier took the bundle and handed it to the next soldier who threw it into a trashcan.

Nicholai looked from one face to another. Vladimir was the only one looking at him with lust. Two of the soldiers were not looking at him at all and one stared stalwartly at him. The message in the soldier’s eyes said plainly: _Rather you than us_.

Nicholai’s eyes trailed away and he debated what life would be like in prison for killing a Soviet Army Major.

“Tell me,” Vladimir repeated, and he leaned over Nicholai. “How old are you, pretty boy? You look very young to be here and have so many scars.” His hand alighted on Nicholai’s naked hip. “Why do you look so angry, my friend? I am just being friendly. You will not even answer me! That is very rude. You should always show deference to your commanding officers. Ah – I know! You want to be disciplined. Well, it is your lucky day. I will teach you to be a good soldier, my friend. If you will not speak to me, I can at least make you scream for me.”

Nicholai gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.

~::~

In 1993, Umbrella recruited him to work for their bioharzard countermeasure service.

Nicholai was greatly displeased to see Sergei already there. Not only that, but the older man was waiting for him.

“I am glad they took my recommendation seriously!” Sergei cheered at seeing Nicholai. “It seems like we will be working close together once more, yes?”

“You continue to think that we’re friends,” Nicholai drawled. “What’s it like to live in a world of self-delusion? Does the sun greet you every morning, tell you that your shit is gold and that the world weeps with joy for your existence?”

Sergei laughed. “This is how I know we are friends. You are honest with me. Not many people are willing to tell me how they really feel. I think they are afraid of me.”

“Afraid? Of you? _No_. That would be ridiculous.”

Nicholai shoved his shoulder into Sergei’s chest as he stalked past. A hand caught the back of his vest and pulled.

Nicholai’s lip pulled back into a snarl and he already had his hand on his combat knife to take care of this bastard once and for all.

“Do you really not miss me at all, my friend?” Sergei asked. “I missed you very much.”

Nicholai glared over his shoulder at the older man, quiet and full of acidic hatred.

Sergei smiled softly, almost as if he did care for Nicholai. “I keep a journal and I write to you in it. I am never brave enough to send you what I write. I know you would laugh at me if you saw the sentimental drivel that I think about.”

“A little diary? That’s adorable. You’re right, I would laugh.” Nicholai shrugged Sergei off and left without another backward glance, his duffel bag in one hand and the other on the hilt of his combat knife under his vest.

~:::~

The boy was just awful.

It was 1996 and Nicholai could hardly stand the sight of him, he was so bright and earnest. It was improbable to him that Carlos Oliveira had been part of a Communist Guerilla Organization. He was well-trained in combat, at the least, and not hesitant to fight to the death if need absolutely be, but his heart was kind and he treated the members of his Platoon like friends. He organized movie nights and babied his comrades that were failing in training. He had taken a liking to Murphy Seeker, who was an excellent sniper and deplorable at absolutely everything else. Carlos treated the hopeless boy like a little brother, training extra with him and giving him food off his plate at meals.

Carlos Oliveira laughed easily, flirted outrageously, and glowed as if he had been carved from the very sun.

Captain Mikhail had even taken a special liking to the lighthearted boy.

“He’s too good for us,” he once told Nicholai.

“He’ll break soon enough,” Nicholai replied bitterly. The entirety of the U.B.C.S. had been recruited from the military or from prisons, neither of which would allow a ray of sunshine like Carlos to exist unmolested. Nicholai had counted at least three men in the dorms who had been convicted of sexual assault and seven more that he suspected. Even if no one fucked the joy out of Carlos, someone was undoubtedly going to come along and beat it out of him.

His smile was too white, his lips too inviting, his curly mop of hair too teasing. His brown eyes were chocolate and his skin looked warm to the touch, as if snow would melt where he walked.

He was a temptation and Nicholai was so angry at him that he went out of his way to make Carlos’s existence a living hell.

“Oliveira, clean the showers!”

“But it’s not my turn?”

“Are you talking back to a commanding officer?”

“No, but –”

“If you are not talking back to a commanding officer, then you are obeying. I told you to _clean the showers_.”

“Well… which one?” There were three communal bathrooms with attached locker rooms.

“Mm. All of them.”

Carlos’s jaw tightened and his eyes spat fire at Nicholai. “Fine. _Sarge_.”

Nicholai was vexed when, later, he came by and found that three of Carlos’s so-called “friends” were helping him with scrubbing down the tiles.

~::::~

“Oliveira, your stance is lazy! You will stay here until it’s _perfect_.”

“But, sir, it’s dinner –”

“Did I ask you for the time?”

“No…”

“What did I tell you to do?”

“… Perfect my stance.”

“So… what should you be doing?” Nicholai cocked his eyebrows and waited.

Carlos scowled at him. “Perfecting my stance.”

“Good to know your ears are working! Get to it.”

“Fine. _Sarge_.”

~:::::~

“Oliveira, the cook is unwell tonight. Get up at 0300 hours and prepare breakfast for the company.”

“What – by my _self_? There’s 200 people!”

“Oh, good, you can count. I’m so proud of you.” Nicholai bobbled his head in consideration. “You do have a point… Fine. Get up at 0100 hours and prepare breakfast.” 

Carlos sputtered with indignation. “… Fine. _Sarge_.”

~::::::~

Nicholai was not there, but he heard that Murphy Seeker somehow convinced his platoon to watch _The Princess Bride_. Nicholai thought it sounded like a film for little girls, but Mikhail later told him that the movie was actually quite good and funny.

“Ah, you wouldn’t get it,” Mikhail told him with an infuriating grin. “You would have to understand twue wuv!”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Mikhail _giggled_.

The worst part about this movie was that Carlos began to act differently around him almost immediately after that night. There was something curious in his chocolate brown eyes as he considered Nicholai, as if he felt that he was on the brink of solving some great mystery.

Nicholai, sick of being stared at and mortified by the feeling of his ears blushing, went on the attack.

“Oliveira, the kennel assistant has been promoted. Until he is replaced, _you’re_ going to clean out the dogshit.”

He expected that tight jaw, that furious gaze, the clenched fists. He got none of it.

That considerate look held for another small moment in time and then Carlos’s expression smoothed into something… pleasant. Amused.

“As you wish. _Sarge_.” He even… he even winked. He winked at Nicholai, that sick bastard.

Nicholai stood frozen as Carlos sauntered past.

~::::::~

Suddenly, every single demand Nicholai made of Carlos, whether routine or cruel, was met with “As you wish, _Sarge_ ” in a tone of amusement. As if Carlos was laughing at him.

Nicholai was struck with the fear that the Bolivian was onto him. That he had noticed Nicholai’s lingering eyes, or seen how Nicholai would curl his fists to his sides to not touch whenever Carlos was within reach. The bastard was obviously making fun of him.

Nicholai, humiliated, changed tactics and sought to completely ignore Carlos. This approach only worked for two days before _Seeker_ of all people skulked up to him and begged him not to kill Oliveira. Apparently, Carlos’s platoon figured that the only reason Nicholai would go this long without heckling the man was because he planned to completely annihilate him. It was a fun idea and would relieve Nicholai of several issues.

“I’m not going to kill him!” Nicholai snarled. “He’s not my problem. If he fucks up, it’s on him and his Captain. I shouldn’t have to correct him every time he misbehaves like a mangy mutt.” He shoved past Murphy, boiling with rage, and prowled back to his apartment. Nicholai changed into a pair of sweats and a cotton shirt, pulled his sneakers on, all with jerky, furious motions. He hit the running trail that went around the U.B.C.S. base and the surrounding forest.

He ran until his shirt was soaked and his legs were sore and his lungs were on fire and he ran past that. He’d been through worse and he hadn’t quite figured out how to punish Mikhail for the existence of his entire platoon, much less just Carlos Oliveira – that distracting, tempting, sonofabitch.

By the time he stumbled back to the complex, he was too tired to be angry and the sun had set. He instead seethed with irritation, a much less taxing form of rage.

This irritation flared briefly at the sight of Carlos Oliveira himself waiting outside the double doors that opened into the base. The man was sitting on one of the wide stone railings, illuminated by lamps that hung above the entrance. The golden glow made him appear ethereal, as if sent from above, and Nicholai wanted to shove him over the side and watch him fall the 2 meters to the ground below.

Carlos did not mirror his irritation. As a matter of fact, he looked somewhat… happy to see Nicholai.

“Oliveira!” Nicholai barked, shirt sticking to his torso, skin flushed red with exertion.

Carlos’s eyes drifted down him before returning to his face. He leaped off the stone railing onto the stair landing with energy that sickened Nicholai. “Yes, Sarge?” He seemed eager. Nicholai did not like that.

“What are you doing out here? It’s lights out in – ” he checked his watch. “It’s lights out!”

Carlos shrugged. “I know, Sarge. I didn’t wanna go to bed though before giving you something.” On the stone railing behind where he had been sitting, he picked up a water bottle and waggled it in the air. “First, I think you need this.”

Nicholai’s stomach was gnawing on itself with thirst. “I’m supposed to believe you got me water out of the kindness of your heart? What’s in it?”

Carlos paused, blinking stupidly at him. “Uh – water. It’s… It’s water.” Eyes on Nicholai, he opened the cap and took a long swig. He swallowed, capped the bottle, and held it out to Nicholai. “See? Nothing deadly.”

The older man continued to eye him suspiciously. Nonetheless, he took the bottle from Carlos’s outstretched hand and swallowed the last mouthfuls.

He wiped his hand over his mouth, salty skin making his lips feel dry. “And that?” he asked, gesturing to a paper-wrapped morsel still on the railing. “Are you a delivery boy now, bringing me my mail?”

“Hah, no.” Carlos took the morsel in his hands and smiled down at it. “I got this for you, but I’m not so sure now that you’ll take it.”

He squinted at Carlos. “What is it?”

Carlos handed it over. Nicholai pushed the empty bottle into the younger man’s hand and they switched.

Carefully unwrapped the morsel, Nicholai found a… a chocolate bar. An _Alyonka_ milk chocolate bar, made in Russia.

Nicholai stared at it, shocked. “How did you get this?” he asked.

Carlos chuckled nervously. “Mikhail gets a regular order of them in the mail and I bribed him for one. I kind of thought you’d like a little taste of home?”

“Fucking _Mikhail_ gets Alyonka chocolate?” Nicholai hissed. “And he’s never _told_ me?”

Carlos’s shoulders hitched up to his ears. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think he meant for anyone to know about his stash. Trust me, bribing him to give up a bar wasn’t easy. I only found out he had them by accident.”

Nicholai glared at the other man and then at the bar. Turning it over in his hands, he found that the wrapper was still in place. It didn’t look as if it had been opened and then glued back together. There wasn’t even a tiny hole anywhere he could see to show that a syringe had been used. As far as the eye could tell, the chocolate bar was just a chocolate bar with no added surprises.

“If you want, I’ll eat some first,” Carlos offered. “So you know it’s not poisoned or anything like that.”

“No!” Nicholai clutched the bar to his chest. “It’s fine. I believe you.” Like hell was he giving up a single piece. “What do you want for it?”

“What do I… what?”

“You’ve made it obvious that you went through a lot of trouble to get this, and now you’re giving it to me. What do you want?”

Carlos’s eyebrows drew together. “I… don’t want anything. Well, actually…”

Ah. Nicholai was familiar with this. Everything had a price. There was always an arrangement to be made.

“You mind telling me why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Nicholai stared at him. “What.”

“Yeah, I’ve barely seen you the past two days. Did I do something wrong?”

Nicholai could make out his features by the light of the lamp set above the double doors. His brown eyes were thrown in shadows and yet Nicholai could still see the very sincere concern there.

If Carlos had been humoring himself at Nicholai’s expense, he was very good at not showing it.

Slowly, Nicholai shook his head. “No. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Carlos appeared to doubt that and spent another moment trying to figure how to articulate this. While he did so, Nicholai began to tease the wrapper open. The scent of chocolate overwhelmed him above his own sweat and the cold, sweet night air.

“Then why’d you stop?” Carlos finally asked.

“Stop what? Torturing you? You should be happy.” Nicholai shimmied the wrapper down and carefully chipped off one cube of chocolate. He let it melt on his tongue, eyes half-lidded.

Even if this was poisoned, he was going to enjoy it.

Carlos was watching him closely. “It, uh… It’s just…”

He mashed the chocolate piece against the roof of his mouth with his tongue and swallowed the decadent treat. “It’s just _what_ , Oliveira? What is it?”

“I thought you liked me,” the younger man practically whispered. “And then you stopped coming around.”

Nicholai almost crushed the bar of chocolate in his fist. “You thought what.”

Carlos ducked his head. “Y’know, I thought you were being so mean ‘cause you had a crush on me.”

“We’re _men_.”

Carlos peeked up at him. “So? I’m not saying it’s only you! I’m saying I’m… interested too.”

Nicholai shoved the bar of chocolate into Carlos’s chest as he stormed by.

“Wa-wait, Nicholai! What’d I do wrong?”

The sergeant spun on his heel, _snarling_ in Carlos’s face. “Everything! _Everything_ , Oliveira. I’m not – I’m not a _fag_. I don’t _want_ you. I don’t have a _crush_ on you. And I sure as fuck don’t want you around _me_ if you’re like that.”

“Don’t lie to my face!” Carlos snapped in turn, not backing down. “I _know_ you want me! I see how you look at me when you think I’m not lookin’. I know why you pick on me more than the other guys. You like me and you don’t know what t’do about it. Fine, I forgive you for bein’ an asshole!” As he got upset, his accent got thicker. “I was raised by a God-fearin’ woman, I know what it’s like to not want to like men.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s okay, though, Nicholai. There’s nothin’ wrong about it.”

Nicholai only barely stopped himself from punching the bastard in the face. “There is _everything_ wrong about it.”

He stalked away, grabbing the double doors behind him and dragging them shut in the most purposeful manner he could manage to keep a barrier between him and that mindless boy.

His heart was hammering in his chest and it was hard to breathe for reasons he couldn’t understand, couldn’t name.

If Carlos wanted him too… Then that meant something could actually _happen_. And that made everything very wrong.

~:::::::~

“Carlos asked me to give this to you,” Mikhail said to him two days later. He handed over an open chocolate bar with a single piece missing from it.

“I don’t want it,” Nicholai told him.

Mikhail scrutinized him closely. “You seem upset, Nicholai.”

“I don’t get upset. Getting upset requires having emotions. I am the Silver Wolf. If you haven’t heard the rumors, allow me to enlighten you: I feel nothing. I have no soul and no heart.”

“Definitely upset,” Mikhail murmured. “Please. Talk to me.”

“You sound like you care.”

“We have our… differences.” Mikhail stressed that last word with so much depth that it carried their entire history together in it. “We’re also colleagues and comrades.”

The sergeant considered this. “You hate me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that…”

“It’s for the best. I need you to protect Oliveira from me.”

Mikhail stared at him. “Are you planning on harming my corporal?”

“Yes,” Nicholai admitted, the most honest he had been in a very long time. “So you must keep him from me.”

This did not get the reaction of mistrust and disgust that Nicholai was expecting. Mikhail only inspected him, as if trying to read his mind. “ _How_ are you planning on harming Carlos?”

“Stop with the questions! Just do it.”

“This is about your crush on him, isn’t it?”

Nicholai whipped around, arm up under the captain’s chin, and launched him into the nearest wall. “I _don’t_ have a fucking _crush_!” Nicholai screeched, teeth nearly snapping Mikhail’s nose off. “You, more than _anyone_ else here, know that I _can’t_ have – have feelings for another man. You, born in the Soviet Union, should know that.”

Mikhail rasped nasally under the pressure against his windpipe. He still held the chocolate bar in one hand, lax at his hip, and tapped Nicholai’s shoulder with the other, signaling that he should let go. Nicholai did not.

“Fags are _nothing_ but child molesters and rapists. I am _not_ like that.”

Mikhail tapped more frantically, face turning purple.

“Do you understand? Do you _understand_?”

Mikhail finally just pushed on Nicholai’s elbow, forcing precious centimeters between them, and wheezed painfully.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry that our state made you believe that birdshit.”

Nicholai, breathing almost as hard himself, frowned in confusion. “What.”

Mikhail finally managed to give Nicholai the bar of chocolate he was holding, since the sergeant was distracted by the captain’s words. That out of the way, he took Nicholai by the shoulders and carefully pushed him back a step.

“ _The Youth Becomes a Man_ came out in 1960, pushed forward by our former Premier, Khruschchev. I was only a boy at the time, 7 or so, but my father read the manual to me religiously so that I would always be on the lookout for homosexuals and never fall prey to them.”

Nicholai’s jaw clenched.

“By the time I was 13, I considered committing suicide.”

“… I don’t understand,” Nicholai said.

“ _I_ was a homosexual, Nicholai, and my father told me almost every night about how homosexuality was a crime that should be reported, that homosexuals were nothing but pedophiles and rapists. I thought I was going to become a monster!”

“You had a wife,” Nicholai pointed out. “You talk about her often. You miss her.”

“She was my best friend,” Mikhail admitted. “She agreed to marry me to protect me from scrutiny, and because she was in love with a woman who was never going to love her back. She brought me great comfort and made my life bearable, but we were never lovers. I miss her every day, but not for the reasons a husband generally misses his wife.”

“So… _you’re_ a fag.”

“I’ve had several people tell me I’m smoking hot,” Mikhail agreed as if he thought he was funny. “But I’d rather you not compare me to a cigarette.”

Nicholai’s face drew down into a sharp sneer. “You _know_ what I mean, old man.”

Mikhail nodded. “Yes, I’m gay.”

“You’re so – so _proud_ of that. Why? You would be slaughtered if we were in Russia right now! You might _still_ be slaughtered here.”

“I’ve done much scarier things than accept who I really am.” Mikhail studied him. “Why are _you_ so afraid to accept who you are?”

“Because… it’s true.” Nicholai stepped away from the captain. “Homosexuals are nothing but pedophiles and rapists. They deserve to be liquidated!”

“Why do you believe that drivel?” Mikhail demanded to know, irritation seeping into his voice. “It isn’t true! Gay men do not _actually_ run about, raping little boys and spreading homosexuality like a disease!”

“Then what the fuck happened to _me_? Huh, Mikhail? Since you are so _smart_ and _wise_ – explain why I am the way I am.”

“You were born this way! It’s not wrong.”

“It is! It is!”

“It’s not!”

“Then why do men keep _fucking_ me? Eh? Ever since I was a child!” He sucked in a ragged breath. “Why was I used like a whore by full-grown men if it isn’t true? Why was I constantly gang raped for money before I even graduated from primary school? You think it’s a lie? That our leaders made up everything about homosexuals being child molesters? Then I must be a fucking liar and my entire life must be one elaborate fucking joke to you!” He smacked his forehead with an open palm and then rubbed his fingers into his eyes. “ _Fuck_! Even Sergei – ” He focused on his breathing.

“Nicholai… Nicholai, I am… I am so sorry that happened to you.”

“I don’t want your _pity_. I want you to admit that you’re wrong.”

“I… can’t. That would be the same as saying that we were made wrong. Please, please, let me amend.” Hands very carefully landed on Nicholai’s shoulders, squeezing. “Adults who are sick and want power over helpless bodies become pedophiles. Men who believe they are straight, who never once look at another man, can be pedophiles that prey on little boys because they want the rush of having forced another man to submit to them, but don’t want to put themselves in harm’s way. _Being gay_ does not make you a pedophile. Being a monster and hurting little children for your own pleasure makes you a pedophile. Nicholai, I have only known you for a few years, but I’ve never even seen you look at a child.”

“There _are_ no children here.”

“I think you like it that way. I think you are so afraid of what you think you might do that you go out of your way to avoid children.”

“So what if I don’t want to hurt children? So what if I avoid them? I still want… I still want to rape a man.”

Mikhail closed his eyes very softly, as if Nicholai had stabbed his soul. He opened them after a long sigh. “Nicholai, tell me truly – do you want to force Carlos to the ground, rip off his clothes, and force yourself on him? No matter how much he cries or fights or begs you to stop? Is that what you want? Do you want Carlos to look at you the same way you look at yourself?”

“No! That’s why you have to keep him away from me.”

“ _Why_ do I have to keep him away from you if you’re not danger to him? To me, it sounds like two full-grown, consenting adults who like each other and want to explore something together.”

“I’m fucked up!”

“We all are! No one here is perfect.”

Nicholai bared his teeth. “What about _you_ , captain? Fuck any little boys lately? Perhaps you want to watch little Seeker gag on your stubby little dick!”

Mikhail flinched, but did not rise to the bait. “You’re angry and afraid. I forgive you. Just know this: I have never and will never force myself on _anyone_. And, for all my misgivings about you… I know you won’t either. I believe you’re capable of great and terrible things, but not rape. Not child molestation.”

Nicholai found that backhanded compliment to be strangely… strangely effective in quieting his mind. Mikhail had no delusion of Nicholai’s true character, of what he was and was not capable of. Nicholai thought of Mikhail as soft and useless and now also questioned his character based on his leanings, but he was… considering believing the old man and what he said.

Nicholai _didn’t_ want to hurt Carlos. He wanted to, to touch. To know if Carlos’s hair was soft or coarse, to know if Carlos truly was as warm as the sun, to know if his lips were smooth, to know how it might feel to cup his hand around the back of the younger man’s neck and pull him close…

He also wanted to fuck Carlos. He wanted to utterly ruin the man, wanted to make Carlos lose his goddamn mind, skewered alive on Nicholai’s cock – but Nicholai had no idea how to do that without hurting the younger man. If he simply _willed_ sex not to hurt, would that work? If Carlos was consenting, would it stop Nicholai from tearing him apart?

The risk was too great.

Nicholai pushed the half-melted chocolate bar back into Mikhail’s hand.

“Keep him away from me or else I’ll kill him,” Nicholai told him in a low voice, a voice that brooked no argument and made no idle threats. It was a promise.

Better Carlos die than suffer Nicholai. 

~:::::::~

Mikhail did not. Fucking. _Listen._

There was a knock at the door to Nicholai’s private chambers. Given his rank, he did not have to bed down with the other agents in the dorms and so had a setup not unlike a studio apartment. He had an open floorplan that was a moderate size, though not large, with his own attached bathroom. The privacy was necessary.

And now it was being invaded.

Nicholai cursed bloody threats as he looked through his peephole and found none other than the man he had promised to kill waiting on the other side.

“Go away, Oliveira!”

“Please let me in?” Carlos called. “Mikhail gave me more chocolate to give to you. He says you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“That rotten fucking fat, slavering pig _shit_!”

“Hey, that’s my captain you’re talking about.”

“Fuck off!”

“Nicholai,” Carlos said, and his voice was soft, softer than before. “ _Please_ let me in?”

Nicholai stared at his lock like it was a venomous thing. With a sneer, he twisted it and then flung his door open. “What do you want?”

Carlos held out three chocolate bars. “These are for you!”

“I don’t want your gay candy.”

“But gay candy’s the best.”

Nicholai squinted at Carlos’s careless grin.

“I’m actually bisexual,” Carlos told him in a stage whisper with one of his damnable winks. “Don’t know if that helps my case, but I thought I’d put it out there that I’m gay and straight at the same time. It’s more fun that way.”

Nicholai stared at him blankly. “You should focus on being straight.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. Here.” He nudged the chocolates toward Nicholai again. “These really are for you. I haven’t done anything to them. Want me to prove it?”

Nicholai crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want, Oliveira?”

“For… you to take the chocolate?”

“What do you want from _me_? Do you want sex? Do you want to fuck me? Do you want to get fucked?”

Carlos was looking more and more unbalanced. “Well, yeah? But more than that.”

“More than that? What, marriage? That’s illegal.”

“Okay, not _that_ much. I mean, I don’t really know a lot about you. I’d just… like the chance to. Y’know?”

“I was born in 1953 in Moscow, Russia,” Nicholai told him blankly. “My parents were Dima and Lada Zinoviev. I joined the Soviet Army in 1969 and went straight into the Special Forces following bootcamp. In 1991, the Soviet Union was dissolved, and I used my skills to become a highly effective mercenary and killed over twenty-three people for money while my countrymen starved in the streets. In 1993, Umbrella recruited me. In 1996, I met this very annoying boy who thinks too highly of himself and who tempts me to commit homicide every day.”

“Hey, that last part sounds like me.”

“Very astute of you. Go away.”

“Well, I’d go ahead and just list off my life history for you too if I didn’t already know you’d read my profile.”

“I’m not obsessed with you.”

“I didn’t say that. You’re the Sarge, I know I’m not the only recruit you studied up on.”

Nicholai _was_ obsessed and he wanted Carlos to just call him on it already and storm out of his life so that Nicholai no longer had to deal with him.

“Your big sister Alicia raised you,” Nicholai admitted to knowing. “She would be disgraced in you if she knew you were chasing other men, her being such a devout Catholic.”

That made the smile slide right off of Carlos’s face, leaving him devastated.

Nicholai leaned toward him. “Go away, Oliveia. You’re not wanted here.”

The younger man swallowed thickly. “I am. I know I am. And I… I don’t wanna go.”

“I can be crueler,” Nicholai told him. “Look at you, about to cry already.” He swallowed thickly, acid bubbling in his gut. “I will make you cry if you stay.”

“You don’t have to,” Carlos argued in a beseeching voice. “Just – watch a movie with me. I’ll be quiet.”

“ _Why_ are you so determined? Are you a masochist? Do you _want_ to get hurt? I’ve _never_ given you any reason to want to get to know me!”

Carlos glanced away and shrugged. “I just… have a feeling. That we’d be good together.”

Nicholai cackled humorlessly.

The younger man was looking more uncertain in himself in that moment than Nicholai had ever seen him.

“Please, Nicholai?” he asked. “One movie. I won’t even talk.”

Nicholai squeezed his eyes shut. “… Fine. Fine! One movie. You say a word and I’m kicking you out. You have two minutes to find a movie and bring it –”

Carlos reached into his baggy sweatpants and pulled a VHS tape free.

“You little arrogant fucker.”

Carlos grinned, warm brown eyes twinkling. “Before I actually enter the apartment and the ‘no talking’ rule kicks in, can I have some chocolate?”

“No.”

Carlos pouted.

Nicholai turned his head away. “Are you coming in or have you changed your mind?”

Carlos quietly entered the unit and Nicholai slammed the door shut behind him.

The younger man waved _Jaws_ around in the air, waggling his eyebrows as if expecting some great reaction.

“Never seen it,” Nicholai drawled. “Television’s over there.” He pointed straight ahead into the open space that was his bedroom, living room, and dining room. There was a half-wall that denoted a separation from the small kitchenette right next to his door from the door that led into the bathroom. He kept his bed on the other side of that wall, out of sight of the front door.

There was a single armchair with a coffee table near his television, which had its own stand. Nicholai used it to watch the news but had acquired a VHS player from Umbrella with the television. Aside from a wall of shelves he himself had put up and that homed a variety of weapons and weapon care equipment, the apartment was utilitarian to the bones.

Carlos looked at the single chair in confusion and then stared pointedly at Nicholai, trying to ask without words where he was supposed to sit.

Nicholai chose to ignore him and flopped down in the chair, waiting impatiently for this to be over with.

Carlos huffed through his nose. Nonetheless, he went about the process of getting the movie started. When the commercials began, he chose to sit, of all places, on the ground with his back to Nicholai’s chair, shoulder against his knee.

Nicholai felt his heart jump into his throat. That was very close. Carlos’s warmth was a physical presence and his knee felt scorching hot just from the slight contact. Nicholai had a brief moment of anxiety that Carlos was going to melt him as the sun melted snow.

Carlos nudged him, head jerking toward the television with excitement. Nicholai looked up and realized that he had lost a handful of time staring at where they touched and the movie had begun.

Nicholai was certain that, by the end of the film, he would have no idea what he had just watched. He felt dangerous, wound too tight, and he was obsessively aware of how close his left hand was to Carlos’s thick mop of hair. Would his curls be coarse or soft? Nicholai’s fingers twitched closer.

He was aware of someone dying onscreen as his fingertips just barely grazed soft, wavy tendrils. He gasped despite himself and curled his hand into a fist.

A hand very gently slid over his. Carlos’s warm brown eyes were staring up at him, wide and dark. Slowly, Carlos dragged Nicholai’s fist back into his hair and the younger man rubbed his scalp against Nicholai’s knuckles.

That was… that was very much not good. That was dangerous.

Nicholai’s hand uncurled and he fingered strands of lustrous brown tresses, entirely unlike his own thin, coarse hair. He combed his hand through Carlos’s hair and the younger man’s head sagged against the chair’s arm, eyes slipping shut.

By the time the shark was brutally murdered, Carlos was oh-so quietly snoring and Nicholai had diligently detangled every curl and felt out every centimeter of the younger man’s skull, finding its dips and rises beneath wavy tresses and thin skin. His heart was a wild stallion in his chest and yet he felt… calm. Peaceful. As if this was all he wanted to do until he himself fell asleep. He gently tugged and Carlos hummed in his sleep.

This was marvelous.

This was overwhelming.

Most of all, it was entirely and utterly painless.

Nicholai meant to shove Carlos to the ground, to give him a reason to wake up panicking and angry, to make Carlos so upset with him that this never happened again.

Instead, he nudged the younger man’s shoulder until he stirred awake, eyes sliding open as he drew in a deep, relaxed breath.

“Your floor sucks and it’s cold,” he complained in a rumpled voice. And then, “Oh, shit! Sorry, I didn’t mean to – I – can I get a do-over on the no-talking rule?”

“Go to bed, Carlos,” Nicholai sighed. “It’s late and we have work to do tomorrow.”

Carlos looked at him with wonder. “Can I come back again tomorrow night? I’ve got other movies we can watch.”

“Your taste in movies is awful.”

“How do you know?”

“I just watched one of them.”

“Oh, yeah? What was it about?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

“ _Hah_!”

Nicholai massaged his forehead. “Fine. Bring by another movie tomorrow.”

Carlos smiled as if Nicholai had given him an incredible opportunity.

“You will regret this,” Nicholai told him. “If you keep this up, I’m going to hurt you.”

“You see… I’m not so sure about that.”

Nicholai hated how much faith Carlos had.

~:::::::~

Movie nights became a regular occurrence. Their lives, Nicholai’s in particular, were set on a strict schedule of training, drills, paperwork, and learning different trades that would aid them on missions. Agents like Carlos were required to understand basic first aid and how to at least change a tire should he end up in a situation without a medic or a mechanic. Of course, learning trades went beyond such minimum standards, and this kept the U.B.C.S. agents busy whenever they were not on missions – and they were not often required for missions.

Movie nights happened perhaps three times a week, whenever Carlos knocked on the door and Nicholai happened to be available – which he always ended up being whenever the younger man came around. By the second movie, Carlos was giving his live commentary, explaining his favorite and least favorite parts and talking about the dialogue. Nicholai, who didn’t care for movies anyway, could only pretend to be irritated by the constant interruptions. In reality, he was content to have Carlos blather on as long as he wasn’t expecting a response while Nicholai lost himself in his newest addiction: The feel of Carlos’s curls between his fingers, springing against his palm, cool and clean and whisper soft.

By three weeks, Nicholai’s fingers had wandered, finding the back of Carlos’s neck to be smooth and warm. His fingertips lingered there and Carlos leaned into his touch, relaxed and still chattering about whatever was happening on the screen. Nicholai hadn’t even paid attention to the name of the movie, but Carlos was describing large, ugly extraterrestrials with black exoskeletons that Nicholai knew Umbrella only wished they could create in a lab.

One movie night, Carlos entered the apartment and then paused. “Hey,” he began nervously. “The floor’s kinda uncomfortable. Do you think we could share the chair?”

Nicholai scowled at him. “It’s a _chair_. It’s only meant to fit one person.”

Carlos cleared his throat. “I could, uh, sit on your lap?”

Nicholai’s brain shorted out. _Carlos could sit on his lap_.

“That wouldn’t be safe,” he said. And then, before Carlos could change his mind, “But, fine. If it will stop your complaining.”

Carlos smiled and his teeth were too white, his lips too plush, his eyes too molten. Looking at him was a treat and Nicholai’s fingers itched to touch.

He sat down in his chair, unable to get comfortable as he waited for Carlos to start the movie.

Was Nicholai even going to like having Carlos in his lap? Carlos was smaller than him in height and weight, but not by much. Carlos was a bulky man of solid mass. Nicholai was unsure if he was prepared for any man to sit on him and he dug his nails into the arms of his chair. He wanted this and yet was unsure if he could handle it.

Carlos approached and eyed Nicholai carefully. “Hey, if you don’t want me to sit on you, I can take the floor again,” he said. “Would you mind if I borrowed your blanket?”

“No! No. I would… like to share my chair with you.”

Their eyes met and Carlos apparently believed him. He nodded and then carefully landed himself on top of Nicholai’s thighs. His weight was… not insubstantial, but also not suffocating. Carlos moved Nicholai’s left arm from under his knees to on top of them so that he could spread his legs over the left side of the chair. Situated sideways, he managed to wriggle and burrow – very distractingly – until he could rest his head on Nicholai’s shoulder. Nicholai was not convinced that Carlos could be comfortable in his position, back bent and head turned painfully to the side, arms folded awkwardly on his chest. All the same, Carlos _did_ seem comfortable and settled into the new situation with ease.

Carlos was now much closer than Nicholai had ever let him get before and he was utterly useless for anything else but trying to detect what Carlos smelled like. Umbrella supplied some scentless exfoliating soap, but employees were allowed to use their salary to buy their own hygienic products. Carlos smelled verdant and fresh, a little bit salty, like a warm ocean breeze. Like a jungle. Like something Nicholai didn’t have the words to describe, but could see in his mind as a fertile and flourishing landscape.

Having Carlos this close also meant being sweltered in his summer-like heat. Nicholai was absolutely melting. His eyes closed drowsily as he was surrounded by good, comfortable, clean sensations.

What felt like only a second later, he shot awake, arms coming up without thought and shoving at the mass that was holding him down. Carlos, who must have fallen asleep as well, flailed out of his lap and fell to the hard, cold floor.

“Are we under attack?!” Carlos cried, wide-eyed and not yet aware enough to realize that Nicholai was just staring at him dumbly.

“I fell asleep,” Nicholai told him.

“O-okay? So… so we’re fine?” Carlos rubbed a hand over his sleepy eyes. “Goddamn, okay… You usually wake up like that?”

“It’s usually much worse.”

Carlos nodded in understanding. “Nightmares fucking suck.”

Nicholai was not thinking about that too much, though. He was thinking about the fact that the movie had had time to end and the credits had already rolled, even though he had closed his eyes practically before the commercials had been over with. He’d fallen asleep and stayed asleep despite whatever noise the movie must have made, and with the solid weight of another man on top of him.

Nicholai pushed himself to his feet. “Go to bed, Carlos,” he said. “It’s late.”

Carlos blinked blearily up at him, recognizing by Nicholai’s voice that something was not right. “So… next time… do you want me to bring my own blanket or… or was this okay?”

He was sleep-drowsy and handsome and warm and bright and Nicholai wanted to bite his head off for making him feel so vulnerable and raw.

“Bring your own blanket,” he said, because he wasn’t ready to fall asleep again in such a precarious position.

~:::::::::~

Gas stations were ridiculous and no one could tell Nicholai otherwise.

He was two hours from the airport and running on a quarter of gas. The American currency frustrated him even after years of using it as an Umbrella employee and he spent precious minutes in his car trying to count out the exact amount of cash necessary for just enough fuel to get him back to the barracks. He had a debit card he could use and he was going to be reimbursed for mileage by Umbrella either way – even American children could count out ten dollars, though, and he would not be outsmarted by a child.

Once he had exact change figured out, he went into the gas station, which was the worst part about using cash.

For a place that sold fuel, these hellholes always seemed determined to meet every other need a human could have. The walls were lined with friges packed with sodas, milk, juices, and teas. There was a coffee machine, a hot chocolate machine, and machines that poured out radioactively colorful liquids that he assumed were also drinkable. There was both warm and cold meals to go as well as a stand of fruit, and aisles of snacks and food. Phones and gloves, a line of magazines, gums and candies under the counter, cigarettes behind the cash registers, and a bookshelf of toys to one side of the doors also filled the small space. Nicholai was certain that, if he waited outside long enough, he would even find someone willing to sell him drugs. He was surprised for a moment as he thought the gas station did not sell clothing until he saw that there was a hanger of shirts with the name of the state on them. 

Why couldn’t gas stations just sell _gas_? Why did gas stations also try to be a toy store, a grocery store, and an electronics store all at the same time?

Nicholai cast a disdainful look around him.

His eyes snagged on the toy shelf. Specifically, he was looking at… at beanie babies, of all things, if the little attached red heart was an indicator.

It was the warm brown color that attracted his gaze, not unlike eyes he found himself often obsessing over. He made a show of purposely walking over, as if not at all mortified by his own actions as he picked up a soft, fuzzy otter that fit in his one hand. It wasn’t even a well-made otter. Its feet looked like mittens instead of paws, having no defined toes, and its front paws were stitched to its mouth with a piece of green fabric between them as if the otter was chewing on seaweed.

He wondered if Carlos would like it. No, Carlos obviously would _not_ like it. They were full-grown men. Carlos had fought and killed for a Communist Guerilla organization and been imprisoned by his own government for doing so. No matter how kind and patient Carlos acted, Nicholai could not let himself forget that the younger man was also inherently dangerous. He wouldn’t care for such a childish thing.

Nicholai rubbed his thumb over the little otter’s belly.

God, when had Nicholai last had an innocent – _innocent_ – toy to play with?

Fuck it. If Carlos didn’t want it, Nicholai would keep it for himself.

He ignored the thought that he hoped Carlos _did_ want it.

The careful count of his money now pointless, Nicholai pulled out his wallet as he approached an elderly woman at her cash register.

“10 on 2,” he said. “And this.” He pushed the otter across the counter.

She smiled without judgement. “Will that be everything today?”

“Do you have any brass knuckles?” Nicholai asked emotionlessly.

Her smile faltered. “Um – no…. No, nothing like that.”

Nicholai scoffed. “And here I thought you could find anything at a gas station.”

~::::::::~

He heard the knock at his door and almost didn’t answer. The otter sat in the center of his coffee table, framed by his tin ashtray and tumbler of vodka. With the nicotine smoke curling around it, he already felt like he had ruined it.

Scowling to himself, he got up and checked the peephole. It was, unfortunately, Carlos, and he was carrying his Umbrella-issued grey wool blanket.

Nicholai opened the door and let him in.

Carlos waved _Aliens 3_ in the air, grinning. “You ready to listen to me talk about xenomorphs again?”

“You’ve talked about them before?”

“Hah hah, funny guy. I know you listen to my movie commentary.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, you _do_ and I know it.” Carlos sauntered to the television, head turning as he passed the table. He had noticed the otter and it more than obviously kept his attention, even as he crouched down in front of the television to get the movie started.

“That’s cute,” Carlos said in a carefully neutral tone that told Nicholai nothing about how the man felt about stuffed animals.

This was ridiculous.

“That yours?” Carlos went on to ask, eyes flicking between Nicholai and the beanie baby.

“No, actually.” Nicholai flopped down in his chair and snatched up his vodka, taking a long swallow. He slapped the empty tumbler down on the table. “It’s yours.”

Carlos _lit up_ , eyes widening and grin splitting his face. “You got me a stuffed animal?”

“Nothing special,” Nicholai muttered. “I saw it at a gas station. It reminded me of you.”

“It _did_?”

“Do you want it or not?”

Carlos stretched his body so that he could swipe the otter to his chest and then retreat back to the VHS player. “Of course I want it,” he said. “You got it for me. I, uh… might have to keep it here though?” His thumb played over the otter’s little seaweed. “I don’t see having a little stuffed animal going well with some of the guys in the dorms.”

“If any of them give you trouble,” Nicholai told him in a low, dark tone. “You give me their names. I promise you, they won’t ever bother you again.”

Carlos’s smile softened. His entire _body_ softened. “I can take care of myself,” he said. “But, thanks.”

Nicholai was distinctly uncomfortable with the way Carlos was looking at him and so turned to lighting another cigarette. Carlos started his movie and set his blanket up next to Nicholai’s chair.

The sergeant’s hand shot out, grasping Carlos by a hip. “Wait – ”

Carlos looked down at him, that soft otter curled to his chest, his brown eyes the same color as its fake fur.

Nicholai swallowed thickly and put out the cigarette he had just lit. “I’ve changed my mind.” Carlos curled his hand protectively around the otter. “About _sitting together_ ,” Nicholai clarified. Carlos blinked at him before understanding dawned.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Nicholai patted his thigh. “Come sit.” He sounded far more in control of the situation than he felt.

“As you wish, Sarge,” Carlos breathed, grinning. He lowered himself into Nicholai’s lap, finding roughly the same position he had been in before except now with the addition of a small, lifeless creature on top of his chest. Nicholai managed to contort himself just enough to grab Carlos’s blanket off the floor and spread it over them.

“Mm,” Carlos hummed. “This is real nice.” His nose ghosted over the line of Nicholai’s jaw, breath hot and moist against his throat, as he turned his head and spoke against Nicholai’s ear. “Is this okay?”

Nicholai’s eyes drifted shut. “This is fine,” he said, carefully toneless because he was dangerously close to humiliating himself. He was considering the horridly domestic act of _cuddling_ and was disgusted to realize that that was exactly what this was. His hands were under the blankets, one on Carlos’s knee and the other in the younger man’s hair.

Carlos was unnervingly quiet for some time.

“Hey, Nicholai?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t freak out, but, uh… I’d like to kiss you. If that’s okay.”

Nicholai felt every muscle in his body go rigid. Admittedly, he had not been kissed often. Whenever he had been, though, it had been humiliating, punishing, or both.

“It doesn’t have to be on the lips,” Carlos told him quickly and quietly. “Or at all, if you don’t want. Just… I could kiss you on the cheek?”

Nicholai had to twist slightly aware from Carlos in order to look down at him and Carlos unbent himself just enough that they were eye to eye.

“We can kiss,” Nicholai decided. He decided to slant his mouth over Carlos’s, taking initiative.

Carlos pushed him away a second later, tongue probing at his bleeding bottom lip.

“What the _hell_ , man?” Carlos hissed. “That hurt!”

The world got grey around the edges and Nicholai felt, despite the sweltering heat trapped under the blankets, that he was icy cold.

“Here,” Carlos said, and his hand cradled Nicholai’s jaw. “Like this, okay?” He pushed their lips together and… and held it there.

There was no violent assault. No forceful tongue or ravenous teeth. Carlos pressed their lips together and moved them rhythmically, without demanding or asking for entry, as if he was content with this chaste contact. Nicholai tasted the blood he had drawn as well as the mint of Carlos’s toothpaste and some remnant spice of his dinner that hadn’t been brushed away.

The kiss was… was good. The ice melted away and Nicholai found it was not hard to mimic what Carlos did, to apologize simply by doing better, by _being_ better, and it felt… Nicholai felt _powerful_.

His hand clenched on Carlos’s knee, the other pulling lightly at Carlos’s hair. The younger man groaned against his mouth, a hand drifting up Nicholai’s chest, fingers brushing against the column of his neck, and then Carlos was scratching lightly at the back of his skull. Shivers raced down Nicholai’s spine.

This was going to lead to sex, he realized, and the powerful feeling sank away.

He knew he couldn’t be fucked. He’d kill Carlos before he let the younger man put any part of his body in Nicholai’s ass – or any other object for that matter. He wasn’t sure if he could ask Carlos to do it though, either. Getting fucked hurt like a bitch and rarely felt any good. How did Nicholai make getting fucked pleasurable for someone? He wasn’t sure and he didn’t really want to find out just yet.

Carlos pulled away, breath hot and damp against Nicholai’s kiss-bruised mouth.

“I think – ” Carlos licked his own lips. “I think we should stop there for right now.”

“You don’t want sex?” Nicholai asked, because that seemed like the logical next step.

Carlos chuckled deliriously. “I do. I definitely do. Just… not yet. I’m having fun taking my time. Aren’t you?”

Nicholai glanced from his eyes to his mouth. “Can we kiss more?” he asked.

Carlos smiled brilliantly. “Hell yeah,” he said.

They spent the rest of the movie lip-locked like two teenagers and it was… fun. It was pleasurable and good and left Nicholai buzzing with arousal and yet content to do nothing. His cock hardened against Carlos’s ass and he would have flown from the chair in disgrace if Carlos hadn’t all but purred.

“Don’t worry,” he said against Nicholai’s mouth. “I’m excited too. We don’t have t’do anythin’ about it right now. Kiss me s’more.”

That was very easy to do.

~:::::::::::~

Kisses were addicting and Nicholai did not always contain them to his apartment. If he happened to come across Carlos somewhere else on base, he’d find a reason to pull the younger man away from his business and share some more of them. He discovered it was sexy as fuck to cage Carlos in against a wall between his arms and run his tongue over Carlos’s bottom lip, asking for entry. He’d learned to not bite, to not force, and the access Carlos so willingly gave him made his head dizzy. Carlos always relaxed into the cage of his arms, hands running up and down Nicholai’s arms, shoulders, and back as the kisses dragged on for what minutes they could spare. Carlos made this especially vulnerable keening sound whenever Nicholai pressed a kiss under the curve of his jaw and Nicholai just had to investigate further, to lick and suck and kiss until he noticed that he was leaving bruises on the younger man’s neck.

“Shit,” he cursed softly, panting. “Shit, I didn’t mean to –”

Carlos chuckled airily. “Don’t worry, Nicholai.” He kissed Nicholai on the mouth again and again until the tension in his shoulders was drained away. “They’re just hickeys,” he reassured the sergeant. “They feel good.”

Nicholai knew that. He knew what hickeys were, he’d even had them. He had just… never given them. The act was novel to him and he devoted the next movie night to leaving hickeys across Carlos’s chest.

That in itself was another pleasurable experience. Of course Nicholai had seen many half-naked men, if not just as many fully naked men, and he was thinking of his time as a soldier with communal showers as much as he was thinking of before joining the Soviet Army. The male body was no mystery to him and he had seen it in every shape and size imaginable.

Now he got to touch and Carlos sighed and hummed and laughed breathily as Nicholai played with his dark nipples until they became hard beads on his tongue and then sucked his mark into Carlos’s collarbone. He couldn’t even see the television anymore, Carlos kneeling in his lap, his knees digging into the chair on either side of Nicholai’s hips. His shirt was on the coffee table and his nails were scratching deliciously over Nicholai’s scalp.

He licked the flat of his tongue between Carlos’s heavy pectorals. “What are we watching?” he asked.

“Nothin’,” Carlos breathed. “Never turned the TV on.”

Nicholai found that funny and chuckled as he rolled Carlos’s nipple into his mouth again, suckling energetically. Carlos arched into his mouth, humming contentedly.

Hesitantly, Nicholai’s hands landed on Carlos’s hips. The body above his remained relaxed and sweet, and Nicholai firmed his grasp as he realized that his touch was not unwelcome.

“H-hey,” Carlos sputtered. “I think… I think we should stop.”

Nicholai _whined_ , reluctant to leave his playground of chest and collarbone and nipples. All the same, he forced himself to pull back, to push his skull into the chair behind him and get control of himself.

“Alright,” he said. “We’re stopping.” He licked his lips and squeezed Carlos’s waist. The younger man had a few of his own scars. There was one that slashed across his side like the blade of a knife, and glossy patch of skin that Nicholai could feel across his shoulder blades, as if he had been caught on fire. Nicholai wanted to taste those too.

He could hear Carlos’s harsh breathing. “Aw, hell,” Carlos hissed. “A little more?”

Nicholai grinned in triumph. “Just a little more,” he agreed. He caught a nipple between his teeth and gave it his most delicate nibble. Carlos _groaned_ against him, head falling back. His hand cupped the back of Nicholai’s head, slight pressure to encourage him to do that again. Nicholai pulled away and the hand let him, not an unstoppable force so much as a wanton plea. Nicholai smirked once more as he caught the other nipple in his mouth.

Carlos _gasped_ , all raw pleasure and no pain, and Nicholai wanted more of that exact same sound.

 _A little more_ went on for minutes and left Carlos’s chest so sensitive that he wore two shirts the next day and kept readjusting them as if he couldn’t quite get comfortable.

Nicholai was viciously proud of himself.

~:::::::::::~

The use of paintball guns during training was irritating to him. It made the entire ordeal seem infantile and inspired the agents to childish antics and raucous laughter. The paintballs made them feel safe, as if each blast of paint was not meant to symbolize their blood spilling, and so they did not treat the scenario half as seriously as they should have been.

Nicholai had once suggested to Mikhail that they replace the paintballs with rubber bullets. Mikhail had told him it would never happen, that he didn’t want to send his people to the medical unit with brain damage or bruised ribs. He especially did not want to give _Nicholai_ rubber bullets, who could and would do his very best to make sure every shot was as damaging as possible.

Nicholai despised these training exercises – however, he was naturally competitive and the individuals who didn’t take the scenario as seriously as they should were easy pickings. As he took down men and women, he was gradually left with the agents who were almost as cutthroat as him. He could admit that that was the interesting part.

The setup of the paintball arena included several towers for a high-vantage point and numerous obstacles on the ground level as well as shelters and oil drum stacks. Having taken out seven people on the ground, Nicholai moved to eliminate his sniper problem. Murphy Seeker was useless on the ground, but his eyes were sharp and his aim was almost always perfect. Sneaking up on him had become one of the most enjoyable parts of these training exercises. The little man never saw Nicholai coming.

Nicholai was crawling, belly to the ground, as he slithered between shelters and eventually took cover behind a triangle of drums. Gun to his chest, he listened as Murphy shot his gun and there was a distant curse.

The most precarious part about getting to Seeker was climbing the tower without the sniper noticing. Nicholai considered himself excellent at this endeavor by this point.

He crouched low and made a dash for the tower, coming at an angle that he knew put him behind Seeker.

His hands had barely touched the ladder when he felt a slight pressure at his back.

“Hey, Sarge!” Carlos greeted cheerfully, his gun pressed between Nicholai’s shoulders. “Going after Murphy? I’m _shocked_.”

There was a squeak from above. “ _Sarge_ is down there already?”

“Don’t worry, Murphy, I’ve got him!” Carlos called up.

Nicholai raised his hands in surrender. He figured Carlos would keep talking, gloating after sneaking up on his sergeant, and he would have time to twist around and disarm the younger man –

Carlos took a step back and fired. Nicholai twitched as he felt the close impact like a tiny fist against his spine.

Nicholai looked over his shoulder in disbelief. Carlos was grinning. “Sorry, Sarge,” he said. “You’re a dangerous man. I couldn’t just let someone like you keep wandering around, shooting people.”

“I keep forgetting there’s an actual brain beneath all that hair,” Nicholai muttered darkly.

Carlos’s grin got wider. His mouth opened like he meant to say something – and Nicholai imagined it was something along the lines of Nicholai taking great pleasure in playing with his hair – but then stopped himself. They were in the open and Murphy was within hearing range.

“It’s a nice brain,” Carlos settled with. “Full of great ideas.”

Carlos flinched and a man whooped in victory out of sight.

“I think someone just shot me in the back,” Carlos told him.

Nicholai put a hand on Carlos’s shoulder and turned him so that he could see. “Hot pink suits you,” he told the younger man.

“Tyrell!” Carlos roared. “You _bastard_ , I thought we were on the same team!”

“I’m here to _win_ , baby!” cried a disembodied voice getting further away. Tyrell Patrick was on the run. “Not to make friends. You’ll forgive me someday!”

“He’s coming for me next!” Murphy squeaked from above. “Oh, man, I’m fucked now that you’re out, Carlos.”

“Eh.” Carlos shrugged, even though Murphy couldn’t see it. “At least you did better than Sarge this time.”

Nicholai sneered at him.

“Hey… you’re right!” Murphy sounded much happier knowing this and Nicholai was still very tempted to climb up there and throw Seeker off the tower.

“Well, Sarge,” Carlos said to him. “Seems like we’re done with the exercise. We should probably head out before people keep shooting us.”

Those warm, brown eyes kept glancing at Nicholai’s mouth.

Then again, throwing Seeker off the tower would take valuable time.

“You’re right, Oliveira,” Nicholai drawled. “And since you suddenly have so much free time, you can run some errands for me.”

Murphy groaned from above.

Carlos’s eyes were molten. “As you wish, Sarge,” he said with deep meaning, as if he was willing to do anything Nicholai wished.

Nicholai swallowed. “Move out, Oliveira,” he ordered. He turned on his heel and Carlos followed closely behind, so near that Nicholai felt himself thawing yet again in his heat.

~::::::::::~

The errands consisted of finding an empty boardroom, locking the door behind them, and Nicholai pushing Carlos up against the long conference table. He hooked his hands under Carlos’s thighs and bodily lifted him onto the surface and then pulled the man into a bruising kiss. He had learned diligently from the younger man and his efforts did not go unnoticed.

Carlos moaned into his mouth, one hand cupping the bowl of his skull and the other fisting in the back of his vest. His legs came around Nicholai’s waist and pulled him closer.

This was fun. This was painless and good and Carlos made adorable noises of pleasure and happiness that Nicholai instantly swallowed, claiming them for himself.

They pulled apart for a moment, Carlos dragging his tongue over Nicholai’s pulse just beneath his jaw.

“Hey,” Carlos murmured between licks. “You know I… like you… right?”

Nicholai frowned. He tried to think of why Carlos might like him and the only reason he could come up with was his body, which wasn’t much of a bargaining chip since it had been ruined in his childhood.

“Why?” he asked with suspicion.

Carlos pressed a kiss to his erratic pulse. “’Cause you’re handsome,” he crooned. “And you don’t mind when I talk during movies.”

“I don’t like movies,” Nicholai argued.

“Then why’d you even let me in to begin with?” Carlos asked in a light, teasing tone.

“The chocolate,” Nicholai retorted. “ _Obviously_.”

“Oh, _obviously_ ,” Carlos sassed. “I think it’s adorable that you like chocolate so much,” Carlos added. “And that you like playing with my hair. I think it’s cute as hell that a beanie baby reminded you of me and the first thing you did was buy it for me.”

“I made you clean out the kennels for two weeks,” Nicholai reminded him. 

“You were so awkward,” Carlos reminisced as if it was a fond memory. “You had no idea how to handle your crush on me. I mean, the kennels fucking sucked, but once I figured you out, it was a lot easier to not be angry anymore.”

Nicholai ran his one hand into Carlos’s hair, tugging on it until the younger man groaned and his head fell back on his shoulders. Nicholai yanked down his vest and shirt and devoted his tongue to lapping at the dip of his collarbone for a long moment. He was not pleased at being seen, at being addressed as _cute_ and _adorable_ , at having his _crush_ so easily discussed.

Tasting the salt and soap of Carlos’s skin gave him focus. If he flew into a rage, Carlos might not let him taste him again. Nicholai kept his calm.

“And how _did_ you figure me out?” he at last asked.

Carlos hummed, throat vibrating with the sound. “I ever show you _The Princess Bride_?”

“You expect me to know?”

“Good point. I’ll bring it by tonight. This time, try to watch it, okay?”

Nicholai scoffed.

Carlos’s hand came around and cupped his jaw, tilting his head up so that they could look at each other.

“Please?” Carlos asked.

Nicholai rolled his eyes. “Fine! Fine, I’ll watch your movie. It sounds like it’s for little girls.”

“Oh, trust me. It’s a movie for everyone.”

Nicholai fell forward once more, testing the density of Carlos’s clavicle with his teeth. He delighted in the shiver that wracked the younger man’s body.

Pulling away for a moment, he pulled apart the Velcro flaps of Carlos’s vest and then pushed the halves to the side. He then shoved Carlos’s shirt up to his shoulders.

“Damn, _tesoro_ ,” Carlos breathed. He put his hands on the table behind him, leaning back and offering himself. “What’s with you and my nipples?”

“ _Tesoro_?” Nicholai repeated with a scowl. He was already descending. He had plans to watch Carlos writhe every time the material of his shirts rubbed against his oversensitive buds for the rest of the day.

“It, uh, means ‘sweetheart’… Don’t like it?” Carlos asked in a gravelly voice. His chest jumped as Nicholai’s teeth came around a bud and began the joyous, torturous journey of making it ache and throb.

“I…” Nicholai massaged his tongue against the nipple. “I don’t mind it,” he eventually decided. He’d been called many, many names by many men – but _tesoro_ had never been one of them. _Baby_ had been, though – baby, baby boy… baby _girl_. He fucking hated the word _baby_. “Never call me baby,” he demanded.

“ _Tesoro_ good,” Carlos wheezed. “Baby bad. Got it.”

“Good,” Nicholai purred, and he descended to his privileged task with passion.

~:::::::::::::~

Nicholai was thinking of names before Carlos even arrived that night.

Should he give Carlos one? What would it even be? He ran through the names he had been called: Cunt, bitch, whore, slut, baby, baby boy, baby girl, cockslut, cocksleeve, glory hole, toy, boytoy, dead fish, callboy, pretty boy, pretty girl…

Those were not names he was eager to know Carlos by.

He asked himself what men called their full grown partners. Should he call Carlos kitten? Did he want to? What was wrong with the name Carlos? Why couldn’t he just call him Carlos and be done with it? Why was this pointless subject suddenly so important that his mind was snagged on it?

The answer – at least to that last question – was that he was enjoying the idea of giving Carlos a name that he himself alone was allowed to use. _Seeker_ sure as fuck wasn’t going to go around calling Carlos _dear_ of all things. Mikhail was never going to do rollcall and yell, “Darling Oliveira!” This would be a name that was unique to them.

Something possessive and hungry curled in his gut. A name that he alone was allowed to use was appealing to him more and more as he ruminated on it.

He heard a knock and opened the door. Carlos stood there grinning, a video in hand and a chocolate bar in the other.

Nicholai realized that he had known all along what to call this man.

“ _Solntse_.”

Carlos’s smile became bemused. “What?”

“You call me _tesoro_ ,” Nicholai replied. “I call you _solntse_.”

“Oh. So, it’s like an endearment? What’s it mean?”

“It means mind your own business and give me the chocolate.”

“C’mon!” Carlos handed over the chocolate. “I told you what _tesoro_ means.”

“That was your choice.” Nicholai shut the door behind the other man and steered him toward the television. “My choice is to not say.”

Carlos _pouted_ at him, like a child. “I’ll figure it out on my own, then,” he muttered. “Just to be clear, though – it means something nice, right?”

“I’m calling you a dumbass,” Nicholai answered flippantly in such a way that it was obvious that _solntse_ did not actually mean _dumbass_. “For you, it’s a compliment.”

“Ouch, Sarge.” Carlos put a hand to his chest. “That one hurt. Maybe you should kiss it better?” His hand moved, fingers rubbing over a hidden nipple.

“That’s not where your heart is,” was what he stupidly said, as if he was his own worst enemy.

Carlos snickered. “Your face right now! You look so pissed with yourself.”

“Shirt off!” Nicholai ordered. “I’ll kiss all of your major organs better.”

“Ooooh, nice save.” Carlos carelessly stripped off his shirt and slingshot it toward Nicholai, who easily caught it.

His eyes followed warm, smooth, dark skin as Carlos got the movie started.

“Here’s the deal,” Carlos began as he stood up. “You can kiss _all_ of my owies,” he was grinning unrepentantly, as if he saw nothing wrong with diminishing the Soviet Army’s Silver Wolf to a pleasure-obsessed moron. “But as soon as the commercials are over, we’re watching the _movie_ , alright?”

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” Nicholai retorted. “Let’s do it like we always do – neither of us watch the movie and you just tell me how it goes while I do what I want.”

“C’mon, _tesoro_ …” Carlos sauntered up to him, hands landing on Nicholai’s waist. He pressed light, teasing kisses up the column of Nicholai’s neck. “Just want you to watch this _one_ movie… Please?”

“You’re shameless,” Nicholai told him, voice not as commanding as he meant for it to be.

Carlos shrugged. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Why do I put up with you? You’re bossy and a tease.”

The younger man looked nothing but pleased with himself. “I don’t know, I think it’s ‘cause you like me, Sarge.”

Nicholai sighed through his nose. “Alright, alright… How do you say…? As you wish, _solntse_.” Carlos, a full-grown man who had gone from being a guerilla to a mercenary, lit up with excitement. Truly, calling him _the sun_ was very accurate.

~::::::::::::~

Nicholai watched the entire movie in stupefied, offended silence. Carlos was keeping up his running commentary, lazing in Nicholai’s lap with a blanket thrown over them, spoiling the plot and laughing too hard at things that were not that funny.

When the movie eventually ended, Nicholai continued to stare.

“So?” Carlos asked. “What’d you think?”

Nicholai’s eyes slid to the other man. “ _As you wish_?” he hissed, a question and an accusation.

Carlos became uneasy. Nicholai was not in a playful mood and it showed. “Uh, yeah. ‘Cause you were always giving me a lot of chores, just like Buttercup did to Wesley.”

“ _Buttercup_.” He was scowling darkly.

“I’m, uh, getting the feeling that you didn’t like the movie.”

“Get off.”

Carlos’s eyes shot wide open with pain. “Hey, what happened –”

“Get the fuck off, Oliveira.”

Carlos stiffly got to his feet, standing next to him. The blanket slipped to the floor and Nicholai shot out of the chair. He snatched Carlos’s shirt off the coffee table, stalked to the door, and threw it into the hallway. He gestured snappishly for Carlos to follow after it.

Carlos swallowed thickly, frozen and confused. “Listen, man, I don’t know what the fuck’s goin’ on right now. Let’s talk it out. What didn’t you like?”

“What didn’t I _like_?” Nicholai snarled. “I did not like finding out that you see me as some helpless, useless, _pretty girl_!”

“ I don’t – what the fuck? I never –”

“Corporal _As you wish_ , trying to understand me and what I do based on a weak bitch that tried to kill herself so she wouldn’t get fucked!”

“Wait, that’s not… Nicholai, what the fuck are you so angry about?”

“I’m angry that you are still here,” Nicholai growled.

“ _Carajo_ , just give me a minute! I never called you Buttercup, I never said any of those things!”

“She reminds you of me!”

“Not ‘cause she’s a woman!”

“ _As you wish_ ,” Nicholai mocked. “That’s how he spoke to her. You see me as Buttercup.”

“I don’t! _Yo no_.” Carlos groaned and shoved a hand through his hair. “Why does this even matter so much to you? I know you’re not a woman. I’m not callin’ you Buttercup. I don’t _think_ of you as Buttercup.”

“I don’t have a fucking cunt, so you _better_ know I’m not a goddamn woman.”

“ _Why_ are you talkin’ like this? Do you ‘ate women?!”

“I hate being called a woman!”

Carlos growled. “I never called you a woman.”

“Out loud, you don’t.”

The younger man – he sobbed. He was furious, yes, and he was confused, but he was also hurt.

Nicholai paused.

“I don’t know what you need me to say,” Carlos told him in a harsh whisper. “I don’t know ‘ow to fix this.”

Nicholai was standing there, holding the door open, Carlos’s shirt in the corridor, and the man before him, half-naked and utterly innocent of the hell that was occurring in Nicholai’s fractured brain.

For fuck’s sake, Carlos had never called him a girl. He’d never even called him Buttercup. Nicholai’s rage had boiled throughout the entire movie, from the first _as you wish_ fell and then plateauing at a dangerous summit when Buttercup had pressed the dagger delicately to her chest.

Carlos had never called Nicholai a girl, but Nicholai had been living somewhere between the present and the distant past for more than an hour and a half. Buttercup, the most beautiful woman in the world, living in a hovel until she was fed false promises by an important, wealthy man. On her wedding night, she had chosen the path far less painful, the path Nicholai had denied himself for fucking _decades_ , rather than get fucked by a man she didn’t want. It didn’t matter to Nicholai that Prince Hump-or-fuck-whatever-his-name-was had already been planning on killing her. As far as she had been aware, she could have lived comfortably for the rest of her life and only been forced to spread her legs for _one_ man. One! And she couldn’t even handle that much.

What the fuck did that make Nicholai, who’d spread his legs and opened his mouth and perfected handjobs and he’d lived in a broken, filthy apartment until the day he ran away? What did that say about Nicholai, who had scars of Sergei’s knives and cigarettes scattered across his body like a battlefield and all he had gotten for it was a recommendation as a mercenary and a monitor?

 _Buttercup_ could have had all the food and warmth she wanted, could have gone the rest of her life without knowing what it felt like to walk through the winter snow with holes in her shoes, could have gotten to wear clean and fresh clothes everyday. She could have had _everything_.

Nicholai couldn’t even count the number of men who had fucked him and he had _nothing_.

The problem here was not Carlos.

The problem had been and always would be Nicholai.

He bowed his chin toward his chest and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Sit, _solntse_.” Nicholai’s voice was quiet and exhausted. “I’ll be right back.”

The door was the type that automatically shut and locked every time it was opened. Nicholai had not thrown the shirt far, but he let the door close behind him as he went and picked it up all the same.

He needed a moment without Carlos.

Nicholai had been young when Dima had started selling him. Naïve and pitiful, he’d convinced himself that the pain was worth it if it meant they had money to make his mama happy. Even as stupid as he had been, an idiotic child, it had only taken him a few months or so to realize that nothing was changing, no matter how many times the Marshall came over or brought his friends. The apartment was the same, his papa was the same, and his mama never got better. If anything, Dima had been selling Nicholai to make everything _worse_. His mama had cried everytime Nicholai had an arrangement, his papa drank even more than before to hide from his own shame, and with everyone in their apartment unable to even _function_ , the hovel had somehow fallen to greater ruin than ever before. No one cleaned, no one laundered clothing, no one filled the fridge. Nicholai had vomited semen and stomach acid more than once because that was all that had been in his belly.

One man… Buttercup could have had _everything_ if she’d let just one man fuck her.

Nicholai balled the shirt up in his hands, feeling worn-soft cotton. He brought it to his nose and caught the scent of Carlos’s body wash and natural musk.

Buttercup instead chose to… run away with the man she loved. Living on the run, whatever fortune or misfortune that brought.

Stupid girl. Foolish bitch. Idiotic, sentimental, reckless cunt.

The door creaked open behind him. His back to his apartment, he kept his head down and the shirt against his chin.

“You comin’ back anytime soon?” Carlos asked, voice rough and tired. “Or should I go?”

“No, don’t – don’t go.… I’m coming back.”

Nicholai turned around and Carlos was watching him wearily, as if the Silver Wolf might at any point lunge and go for his throat.

Nicholai wasn’t capable of apologizing. He handed the shirt back to Carlos and thought that that meant something, though the meaning was beyond him.

Carlos looked down at his shirt and then up at Nicholai. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he drawled, stepping to the side. “Maybe we can talk about what the hell just happened.”

“Or we could get drunk and ignore it.” Nicholai entered his own apartment and made a beeline for the fridge.

The door shut behind them. “Nicholai.”

“No _tesoro_?”

Carlos ran a hand through his hair. “Look, alright? I like you and I want this to work, but – fuck, that was a shitshow. I don’t even know what went wrong. Or – you told me, but it didn’t make sense to me.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“You tell me to get the fuck out, then you come back and tell me to stay, and now we’re just not gonna talk about it? If you – if you can’t talk about it, can you at least gimme a hint on how we can make sure this never happens again? Something? C’mon, I can’t… can’t feel like this every time I’m around you, like I’m walking on a minefield without a map.”

What Nicholai wanted to say was, _Then get out. Leave and don’t ever come back. If you can’t handle me, that’s your problem._

He poured himself a tumbler of Vodka and was silent for a long minute. “I used to be called a girl when I was a child,” he finally admitted, and it felt exactly like he was ripping his own chest open. He swallowed half of his glass in one go. “Full-grown men would call me a pretty girl.”

There was dead silence behind him.

“I’m not a girl,” Nicholai reminded him. Reminded them. “I’m no one’s baby girl, or baby boy, or cunt, bitch, slut, or whore. Do you understand? Can you understand that? I’m no one’s glory hole – not even yours.” He swallowed the other half. “That stupid bitch. She could have fucked one man and been set for life.”   
“Humperdink was gonna kill her anyway,” Carlos said from behind him, voice strangled and stunned.

“She didn’t know that.”

“I need to sit down,” Carlos rasped. There was a _thump_ as his back hit the incomplete wall and then he slid to the floor.

Nicholai pointedly filled his tumbler again. “Can you understand that?” he repeated. “It’s hard enough to take a shit much less take a dick these days.”

“W-what?”

“I have scars.” Nicholai drifted a hand over the seat of his own jeans, pressing a finger to the seam that went down the center of his ass. “Here.”

Carlos didn’t say a word.

Well. This had been mortifying. It would likely become important very soon that Nicholai kill Carlos or else have _Seeker_ of all people asking how much the Sergeant went for these days.

Being known was awful and he was never doing this again.

“There’s the door,” he drawled, as if it didn’t matter, and he pointed in its direction with a thumb. He grabbed his bottle by the neck and decided he was done playing around. He was beyond the need for a tumbler.

He could hear Carlos draw in a deep, shuddering breath.

“Boyfriend,” the younger man croaked. “You’re not a… There’s no _gloryhole_ in this relationship. You’re my boyfriend. My lover.”

Nicholai went rigid.   
“I’d, uh… I can’t… ‘ear anymore right now. It ‘urts. I don’t feel right leavin’ either. Can I ‘old you?”

Nicholai turned his head toward his shoulder and stared down at Carlos with narrowed, animal eyes. The eyes of a beast that had been caught in too many traps and felt it was about to fall into another one. Carlos’s expression was stricken, one knee pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped around it.

“I don’t want to be held. I don’t want to be coddled. What is, is. _Cuddling_ won’t change it.”

Carlos swallowed thickly. “Can you ‘old me?”

Nicholai put down the bottle. “Fine.”

The bed was right around the corner of the wall, but they returned to familiar ground. Nicholai sat down on the chair and Carlos crawled into his lap with his blanket. The television was on its blue screen and nothing was said for a small eternity.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos said at some point, his whisper startling in the overwhelming silence. “I’m sorry that I pushed you so hard. In the beginning, I mean. I figured you were just having a gay panic. I know what that’s like. I didn’t… think there’d be something else.” He nudged his head against Nicholai’s jaw. “We’re good… right? Did I – did I ever – did I ever make you feel like you had to do shit with me?”

Nicholai frowned at the question. “What do you mean?”

Carlos pulled in a deep breath and held it for seconds. He released it slowly. “You like what we do, right? I’ve never… Have I ever made you feel…” He swore under his breath. “Fuck, Nicholai – did I ever do something to you that you didn’t like? Did _I_ ever force myself on you?”

Nicholai squinted at the younger man. Slowly, he smiled. And then he cackled. He stuck one hand out from under the blanket to cover his face as his shoulders shook.

“You?” he asked incredulously. “You think _you_ could ever force yourself on _me_? I thought you were smart!”

“You don’t have to be an ass, I just – I wanna know that you like what we do together.”

“Oh, _solntse_. If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t let it happen.”

“Then why were you so scared of me?”

“Scared? Of _you_? When?”

“When you were treating me like shit? I thought it was ‘cause you had a crush on me, but… maybe not.”

“Maybe so,” Nicholai corrected. “I didn’t make you clean up dog shit and scrub down the showers by yourself because I was afraid of you. That’s ridiculous.”

The truth was, though Nicholai wasn’t going to say it, was that he’d been afraid of _himself_. Afraid that if he stood too close to Carlos, if he let himself linger too long, if he let Carlos smile at him, that he would take what he wanted. Perhaps, in a convoluted way, that meant he had been afraid of Carlos – but only because the younger man had made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. The emotions were tangled and unnamable and Nicholai did not offer an explanation.

“Must’ve sucked,” Carlos grunted. “Realizing you liked a guy.”

“It was horrible.”

“And then findin’ out he liked you back.”

“A total disaster.”

“Learnin’ ‘ow to be intimate.”

Nicholai tangled his hand in Carlos’s hair. “Not so bad, I have to admit.”

“Not to ruin the peace, but… someday, when we want, would ya like to fuck me?”

Nicholai frowned. “Why the hell would you want that? Are you a masochist?”

“Oh, shit,” Carlos breathed. “You really don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“It doesn’t have to hurt,” he answered. “When ya make love with another man. You just gotta be slow and careful. I can show ya ‘ow to treat me nice. Have it feel as good for me as it will for you.”

Nicholai did not want to think about how _good_ that might feel. He covered Carlos’s eyes with his other hand. “Go to sleep,” he ordered. “It’s late and I’m done talking.”

“You wouldn’t happen to mind if we slept in your bed, would ya? No funny business, promise – just don’t think we wanna wake up like this in the morning.”

“I know there will be no funny business,” Nicholai retorted. He patted Carlos’s head and the man rolled off of Nicholai’s lap. Nicholai stood up and stretched his arms across his chest. “We’ve fallen asleep together before.” Admittedly, always in the chair. Carlos had never before so much as sat on his bed.

Carlos was struck silent for a moment. He smiled weakly. “You wouldn’t happen to have another toothbrush, would ya?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Damn. You ready to kiss me in the morning when my mouth tastes like skunk?”

“We can share my toothbrush.”

“Nice.”

~::::::::::::~

Having a… a _boyfriend_ – fuck, what a juvenile word. He was over thirty years old, what was he doing having a _boyfriend_? – who knew vaguely of his past was largely a trial.

He noted that Carlos became more careful around him. Not distant, not reluctant, not pulling away as if he meant to escape now that he knew what he was getting into – but careful, as if he had decided that Nicholai was made of glass. Almost every touch was preceded by ‘is it okay if I touch you here? Is it okay if I touch you like this? You’ll tell me if you don’t like this, right?’

Nicholai loved and despised every moment of it. On one hand, no one had ever been so determined to make Nicholai feel good. On the other, no one had ever been so determined to make Nicholai talk about what did and didn’t make him feel good.

It took some weeks, but they eventually constructed a new reality where Carlos stopped babying him, which was for the best. They slept in Nicholai’s bed together more often than not and the days of suckling at Carlos’s nipples had returned, much to the sergeant’s delight. Carlos started bringing movies around again that neither of them watched two weeks after _The Princess Bride_ and Nicholai realized that the background noise and Carlos’s film commentary had become something he had enjoyed. He was loathe to say that he may have missed it.

Five weeks after the incident, he put in some of his vacation time and demanded Mikhail turn Carlos over to him for a weekend of one-on-one wilderness training.

“Just call it camping like everyone else,” the old man grouched. “ _One-on-one wilderness training_. Pah! I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Just do it,” Nicholai growled.

“I’m doing it!”

That settled, Nicholai then proceeded to tell Carlos about the one-on-one wilderness training.

The younger man’s brown eyes lit up. “We’re going camping? Where?”

“It’s not camping! It’s training.”

“Uh huh,” Carlos agreed easily. “Sure. Where are we training, _Sarge_?”

Nicholai glared at him. “I’ve decided that I’m going alone.”

“No, wait! I’m sorry, Sarge. May I please know where we are going for this super important, one-on-one wilderness training?”

“Hell, obviously.”

“Thought we already lived there?”

Nicholai couldn’t stop a smile.

~::::::::::::::~

Nicholai called it wilderness training and Mikhail and Carlos called it camping, but the truth was that Nicholai had not suffered in a freezing cold, broken down apartment for near all his childhood and then served in the Soviet Army for twenty years to sleep outside of his own free will.

He had rented a log cabin in Fairbanks, Alaska. It was April, so the average temperature was upwards of 5 degrees Celsius and the snow had melted. The world was soggy green and Nicholai had already spotted a black bear as he and Carlos pulled up in a taxi.

“I kind of thought Alaska was always covered in snow,” Carlos admitted.

“Usually, yes,” Nicholai had agreed. “Not always.”

Carlos had complained that it was cold outside. Nicholai stood on the wraparound deck in a short-sleeved shirt with sweatpants, feeling that the weather was acceptable. He watched the sun set.

A mug bumped against his elbow. Carlos grinned as Nicholai took the offered hot chocolate.

“Any reason we’re doing our serious training here?”

“Yes.”

“Any reason you’re gonna tell me about?”

“Mm. No.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

“I get it.” Carlos nodded into his mug. “It’s a surprise.” He shivered. “Aren’t you cold?”

The answer was that Nicholai was never warm, therefore the question was pointless.

“I was born and raised in Moscow,” he said. “This is nothing.”

“I was born and raised in Bolivia,” Carlos retorted. He pushed himself against Nicholai’s side. “It’s cold, damnit.” He said this and yet it was his radiating heat that seeped into Nicholai’s frozen bones.

Nicholai sipped his hot chocolate.

“I know I’m complaining,” Carlos said a few minutes later. “I’m glad you brought me.”

“Having you here isn’t so bad,” Nicholai agreed. The sun disappeared below the horizon.

“Let’s go inside,” Carlos suggested. “Fuck, I think it just got colder.”

“Just a little while longer.”

“Why?” Carlos looked up. “Did you bring us here to do some stargazing?”

Nicholai glanced at the crystal clear sky, stars already beginning to shine in the sun’s absence. Soon, the sky would be so dazzling that the night would be bright with starlight.

“Something like that,” he hedged. He wrapped an arm around Carlos’s shoulders and dragged the younger man closer, hand rubbing up and down his other arm. “I’m waiting for something.”

“Mind if I stay inside while you’re waiting for that something?”

“I’d prefer the company.”

“God damnit, fine. I’m getting blankets, though.”

“Turn off the lights while you’re inside.”

Carlos pressed a kiss to Nicholai’s cheek. “Got it, Sarge.”

They waited outside together for close to an hour, bundled in a quilt, until Nicholai finally shook his head. “Not tonight, then,” he said.

“Not tonight for what?”

“You’ll see.” He slipped the quilt off his own shoulders and wrapped it more securely around Carlos. “Let’s go to bed. We can hike tomorrow.”

Nicholai had only rented a small cabin. Barely more than a yurt. It had an open space plan with a bed against the furthest wall and a kitchenette separating the dining room table from a small living room space.

Carlos, despite all of his complaints about the cold, used the shower first and came out in nothing but a pair of briefs. He grinned as Nicholai’s eyes dragged over his body.

“Your turn.”

Nicholai took over the bathroom. At the last minute, he also decided to strip to his boxers.

He eyed himself in the small mirror – the pockmarks of burns, the scars of Sergei’s blade dragging over his chest and down his belly. There were other old wounds on his back, ones that he had not let himself look at in years.

He sneered at his reflection and it sneered in turn.

Despite this, or because of this, he left the privacy of the bathroom in his underwear and put himself on display. Carlos had never seen him as anything but fully dressed and the younger man’s eyes bugged out of his skull at the sight of Nicholai almost naked.

“Damn, _tesoro_ ,” he breathed. “Lookin’ good…”

Nicholai scoffed, scratching at the scars on his chest.

“I see’em,” Carlos murmured. “I’m not blind. I still like what I see.” He sat up in bed. “C’mere, _tesoro_. Lemme touch?”

Nicholai leaned over the bed and pulled Carlos into a kiss. The young man’s hands began carefully at Nicholai’s shoulders. Meeting no resistance, they smoothed over his chest, thumbs following the ridges of ancient pain. Palms flattened over his ribs and then Carlos groaned as he fondled Nicholai’s solid core.

“Fuck, _tesoro_ , you’re so hot.” Carlos fell back on the bed, pulling Nicholai over him.

“Not so bad yourself,” Nicholai purred. He took another kiss for the road and then he traveled to his favored destination.

Carlos relaxed into his mouth, humming as Nicholai pulled and sucked at his pecs. His hands wandered over Nicholai’s shoulders, chest, and back, anywhere he could reach with the older man attached to his chest.

Slowly but surely, he got hard against Nicholai’s belly. After all this time of heavy petting, this wasn’t unusual. Nicholai’s reaction was to generally ignore it since Carlos always did.

This was a new bed, though, very far away from Rockfort Island and the U.B.C.S..

“Let me jerk you off,” Nicholai said.

Carlos’s eyes bugged for the second time that night. His mouth open and shut and he eventually stuttered, “Uh – yeah. If, if that’s what you want.”

“I do want.” He rolled Carlos’s nipple under his tongue and he caressed one hand down Carlos’s chest and belly toward his briefs. Carlos may have had to teach Nicholai how to kiss, but he had learned a very long time ago how to give exceptional handjobs. His fingers slipped under the band of Carlos’s underwear and there was another man’s dick touching him, skin to skin, for the first time in a very long time.

He paused at the sensation of hot, stiff flesh, rode-shaped and twitching toward his touch like a sentient thing.

“You too,” Carlos breathed.

“Me too what?”

Carlos licked his lips. “Lemme jerk you off, _tesoro_.”

Nicholai squinted at him. “The handjob is free,” he said. “You don’t need to give me anything.”

Carlos stared up at him. “I don’t need to. I _want_ to.” His fingers tickled down Nicholai’s sides until they touched the band of his boxers. “Do you want me to?”

Nicholai eventually nodded. Carlos looked even more excited then when Nicholai had offered _him_ a handjob, and those fingers tugged down his boxers.

“Oh,” Carlos whispered. He licked his lips. “Nicholai, you are… fuckin’ _‘ung_.”

Nicholai gasped at the first touch of fingers to his dick. For a flash, he expected pain. He expected a fist to curl cruelly around his penis, so tight that he cried, and he could almost hear a voice threatening to cut it off since he acted like such a little girl and was such a whore.

And then Carlos hummed with pleasure, thumb gliding over the head. “Oh, yeah, _tesoro_ ,” he crooned. “Someday, when we’re ready, this is gonna make me feel _so_ good. Let me make you feel good now.” He did this thing where he spit on his palm and then wrapped his fist around both of them.

Nicholai stopped breathing entirely, experiencing Carlos hot and spongy and steely against his own penis, their pre-cum smearing together as Carlos began to pump them. He recalled that he had been the one to offer to jerk Carlos off. No pun intended, but the younger man seemed to have taken the matter into his own hands and was doing just fine on his own.

Nicholai planted his hands by Carlos’s shoulders, head landing on the younger man’s clavicle. He thrust into Carlos’s fist, against the younger man’s dick, and that felt impossibly good. Threats from the past slipped away and it was just him and Carlos in bed.

He found Carlos’s pecs with his mouth and focused on suckling and thrusting. Carlos groaned beneath him, torso rising off the bed as he arched into Nicholai’s mouth.

“’ow’s it feel, _tesoro_?”

“ _Neveroyatno_.”

“Wha?”

“ _Unbelievable_.”

“Mm, _yo también_.” _Me too_.

“ _Chto?_ ” _What_?

They were obviously both not willing to focus on English and sex at the same time and Carlos only hummed in response. Nicholai wordlessly agreed and raised his head to slip his tongue into Carlos’s mouth, stealing sounds of pleasure and contentment. His hand eventually wandered back to their gyrating hips, wrapping just above where Carlos’s hand was. The younger man moaned, cock jumping and getting Nicholai’s hand wet with arousal.

Nicholai did not take long to find his end and he gasped into Carlos’s mouth as his body went rigid, seed spurting over their fists and plopping in thick gobs on Carlos’s belly. Nicholai looked down and saw the stark white fluid on Carlos’s tan skin and groaned low in his throat.

“ _¡Mierda!_ ” _Shit!_

Carlos’s hips rolled into Nicholai’s, eyes clenched shut and mouth falling slack as he reached his own climax. His own mess mixed with Nicholai’s, and the older man was having an impossible time trying to look away.

“A-are you… Are you getting’ ‘ard again? Aren’t ya too old for that?”

Nicholai glowered at him, even as he panted. “I haven’t done this in awhile.”

“Fuck… I’m done, but… I’d like to see ya keep goin’.”

Nicholai glanced back at that mess. “I want to try something.”

“Mm. Yeah? What’s that?”

“I want you to turn over.”

Carlos frowned. “I, uh, don’t think we’re ready for anal _just_ yet.”

Nicholai shook his head. “I don’t want to cum in your ass. I want to cum on it.”

The younger man’s brown eyes sparked with interest. He glanced at the mess on his belly and then back at Nicholai. “Is’at right?” His voice dropped lower as he lazily flopped onto his belly. Nicholai sat back to let him move and Carlos splayed his legs open with hesitation, putting Nicholai between them.

Nicholai planted his hands on Carlos’s lower back, dangerously close to peach-round buttocks. 

“Go a’ead,” Carlos purred. “Touch me. Want you to.” He reached behind himself and gently pushed Nicholai’s hands lower until he was holding Carlos’s ass against his palms. He was warm and soft and firm and deliciously lush.

Nicholai was absolutely getting hard again, though not as quickly as the first time. He massaged the globes of Carlos’s ass and Carlos responded by spreading his legs farther apart. The trust was implicit and made Nicholai’s dick twitch.

Nicholai pressed his lips to the dimples at Carlos’s lower back, tongue searing a path toward one buttock. He paused, waiting to hear if this was unwelcome. Carlos only bowed his belly into the bed, pushing his ass toward Nicholai’s mouth.

This was not what Nicholai had had planned for the night. From the moment their underwear was pulled down to the microsecond where Nicholai’s fingers kneaded at peach-soft cheeks and pulled them apart so that his tongue could slaver between them had not at all figured into how he believed the weekend would go. He had expected more heavy petting, of course. He had expected physical exercise in the outdoors, a surprise for Carlos, and some moose sightings.

Now his tongue was slobbering over Carlos’s hole and he was waiting for one or both of them to say _‘We need to stop, this is too far’_ but it hadn’t happened yet. Carlos tasted clean from his shower, his hole rosy and tight. The scars Nicholai could feel on his own ass were completely absent on Carlos. Nicholai lapped roughly at the puckered muscle until it winked against his tongue. Carlos whimpered – _whimpered_! And the delicious noise ran straight down to Nicholai’s cock.

“Love this,” Carlos slurred. “Want this. Keep goin’…”

Unplanned, but not unwanted.

“If you want this so much,” Nicholai growled. “Hold yourself open for me.”

Without pause, Carlos’s hands came back and around and he pulled his cheeks apart.

Nicholai hissed in pleasure. One hand fell to his own demanding cock and his mouth became busy with nipping, sucking, and licking at Carlos’s buttocks and the furled hole between them. He pressed kisses to the back of Carlos’s hands and then dragged the flat of his tongue up Carlos’s crack until he reached the dimples of his back.

Carlos whimpered, face rubbing against the blankets. “’Avin’ fun?” he gurgled.

“Very much,” Nicholai rasped.

“Gonna cum on me?” Carlos purred. “Want ya to cum on me. Make me messy, _tesoro_. Love knowin’ ‘ow much ya want me.”

“I _will_ ,” he growled. “I’m close.” He had to pull away, to pull himself closer. He wrapped his hands under Carlos’s legs and dragged the man’s lower body practically into his lap. Nicholai’s cockhead grazed Carlos’s buttock and now it was the older man’s turn to whine.

“Give it to me,” Carlos crooned. “Wanna be your mess.”

Nicholai cursed, his second orgasm almost painful in its intensity. Thin threads of sperm spattered over Carlos’s saliva-sticky and blushing cheeks, the contract of white against rosy brown tantalizing. Nicholai swore he would have had a third erection if he was physically capable of it.

He panted, jerking himself off through the aftershocks. Carlos watched over his shoulder, smiling. Nicholai found that he was grinning back. He could not ever remember feeling this lax and content.

Carlos stretched and yawned, appearing equally as pleased if not smug. “Think we need another shower,” he murmured. “Thoughts?”

“Accurate,” Nicholai panted. “And mouthwash.”

“We’d save water if we showered together.”

“Very clever, _solntse_ ,” Nicholai rumbled. He massaged his seed into Carlos’s lower back, enjoying how relaxed and willing his partner was below him. “Fine then. Together.”

“Carry me?” Carlos mewed. He cracked into a wide grin immediately after he said it, obviously joking.

Well.

Nicholai decided to pretend that he didn’t know what a joke was. He rolled off the bed, turned around, and hoisted the younger man up into his arms.

“ _¡Jesucristo!_ ” Carlos licked his lips, staring at him as Nicholai carried him toward the bathroom. “Goddamn, you’re strong.”

“I just happen to be highly motivated,” Nicholai demurred. “And, yes, I’m also ruggedly strong.”

Carlos chuckled and pressed a kiss to Nicholai’s jaw. “Hot damn. You are one sexy man, Sarge.”

~::::::::::::::~

They did actually go hiking the next day, though it was toward the evening. Nicholai led them almost 28 kilometers to Chena Lakes. By the time they got there, it was almost 0000 hours and Carlos looked downright miserable from the cold despite their physical activity.

The younger man glowered at him as Nicholai chose a spot and put down a blanket.

“Don’t be mad,” he told Carlos. “You’ll see. This will be worth it. Come keep me warm.”

“Bossy,” Carlos muttered. He pulled his blanket from his own pack and crowded against Nicholai on the quilt, wrapping them up tightly to stop a chill from invading.

Carlos reminisced about home and how he would rather be there then freezing in Alaska, getting his ass wet as the quilt got damp beneath them from the soaked earth. Nicholai allowed his lover to complain because he didn’t see a point in stopping him yet.

It was closer to 0100 hours that Nicholai nudged Carlos, wordlessly requesting silence.

“Do you know what Fairbanks is known for?”

Carlos frowned at him. “No. What’s it know for?”

“For one, Fairbanks has very clear nights. For another.” Nicholai pointed. “That.”

Carlos followed his finger and gasped.

Bands of bright green danced across the sky from the horizon, ethereal and wispy as if made of pure fantasy.

“Northern lights,” Carlos breathed. “Did you bring me all the way to Alaska to look at Northern lights with you?”

“Either that or just to make you cold and miserable. In a season, there may be four or so visible shows of the Aurora Borealis,” Nicholai explained. “This was what I wanted you to see, but I couldn’t guarantee that this would happen.”

“You sure sounded like it was guaranteed,” Carlos whispered, eyes still on the lights in the sky. The green light was reflected in his gaze and Nicholai found he was watching Carlos as much as the aurora borealis. “What was your backup plan if it turned out you had me walk over four hours to get here and freeze my ass off and there were no Northern lights?”

“I planned to get a taxi to take us back to the cottage and then reacquaint my mouth with your ass. That went well yesterday.”

“Oooh, that would have made me feel better. Any chance I can have the Northern lights _and_ you rim me?” The aurora borealis began to fade away. Carlos frowned, sitting up straighter, as if he wanted to demand that the lights stay.

“Only if we still get the taxi,” Nicholai bargained. “And you take a shower when we get back.”

“Shower with me?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.” Carlos leaned his head against Nicholai’s. “I’m getting all kinds of spoiled over here.” He turned and kissed the corner of Nicholai’s mouth. “Maybe I can give you something in return?”

“Such as?”

“Could I interest you in a blowjob, _tesoro_?”

“… You could.”

“What time do we leave tomorrow? _Shit_. I mean, today?”

“0200 hours.”

“We even get time to sleep. Let’s call that taxi,” Carlos purred. “And get this party started.” He paused. “Thanks,” he added in a whisper. “For bringing me here. For showing me this.”

Nicholai tangled his hand in Carlos’s hair and kissed him soundly. “Of course, _solntse_. I needed a transportable heater, after all.”

Carlos snorted. “Fucker.”

Nicholai didn’t say that he wanted to make the younger man happy. Carlos understood him anyway.

Being known was not… always so horrible. As long as it was Carlos.

**Author's Note:**

> The entirety of this story was inspired - you guessed it - by ongoing conversations between AnotherAnon0 and myself. As well as by their stories. Because they are incredible. I wanted to do more with this plot, but I ran out of steam. I'm upset, I wanted to keep going, but I couldn't keep carrying the story forward. 
> 
> Please let me know if I should add tags! Actually, just please let me know how you felt about the story. I swear, I like comments. You can comment. You'll make my day if you do.


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